LITTLE  BLUE  BOOK  NO. 

Edited    by    E.    Haldeman-Julius 


1100 


Iconoclastic  Memories  of 
the  Civil  War 

Bits  of  Autobiography 
Ambrose  Bierce 


This  600^  has  Been 
digitized  through 
the  generosity  of 

Robert  O.  Blissard 
Class  of  1957 


i 


University  of  Illinois  Library  at  Urbana-Champaign 


LITTLE  BLUE  BOOK  NO.     i    1  (\(\ 

Edited    by    E.    Haldeman-Julius       1  1UU 

Iconoclastic  Memories  of 
the  Civil  War 

Bits  of  Autobiography 
Ambrose  Bierce 


IIALDLMAN-JULIUS  COMPANY 
GIRARD,   KANSAS 


Copyright,  1909,  by 

The  Xeale  Publishing  Company. 

Heprinted   by  Special  Arrangement  with 

Albert  and  Charles  Boni,  N.  Y. 


XITI  '  AMERICA 


ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 
OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR 

ON  A  MOUNTAIN 

They  say  that  the  lumberman  has  looked 
upon  the  Cheat  Mountain  country  and  seen  that 
it  is  good,  and  I  hear  that  some  wealthy  gentle- 
men have  been  there  and  made  a  game  pre- 
serve. There  must  be  lumber  and.  I  suppose, 
sport,  but  some  things  one  could  wish  were  or- 
dered otherwise.  Looking  back  upon  it  through 
the  haze  of  near  half  a  century,  I  see  that 
region  as  a  veritable  realm  of  enchantment; 
the  Alleghanies  as  the  Delectable  Mountains. 
I  note  again  their  dim,  blue  billows,  ridge  after 
ridge  interminable,  beyond  purple  valleys  full 
of  sleep,  "in  which  it  seemed  always  after- 
noon." Miles  and  miles  away,  where  the  lift  of 
earth  meets  the  stoop  of  sky,  I  discern  an  im- 
perfection in  the  tint,  a  faint  graying  of  the 
blue  above  the  main  range — the  smoke  of  an 
enemy's  camp. 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  that  "most  im- 
memorial year,"  the  1861st  of  our  Lord,  and  of 
our  Heroic  Age  the  first,  that  a  small  brigade 
of  raw  troops — troops  were  all  raw  in  those 
days — had  been  pushed  in  across  the  Ohio 
border  and  after  various  vicissitudes  of  fortune 
and  mismanagement  found  itself,  greatly  to  its 
own  surprise,  at  Cheat  Mountain  Pass,  holding 
a  road  that  ran  from  Nowhere  to  the  southeast. 
Some  of  us  had  served  through  the  summer  in 
the  "three-months'  regiments,"  which  re- 
sponded to  the  President's  first  call  for  troops. 


4  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

We  were  regarded  by  the  others  with  profound 
respect  as  "old  soldiers."  (Our  ages,  if  equal- 
ized, would,  I  fancy,  have  given  about  twenty 
years  to  each  man.)  We  gave  ourselves,  this 
aristocracy  of  service,  no  end  of  military  airs; 
some  of  us  even  going  to  the  extreme  of  keep- 
ing our  jackets  buttoned  and  our  hair  combed. 
We  had  been  in  action,  too;  had  shot  off  a 
Confederate  leg  at  Philippi,  "the  first  battle  of 
the  war,"  and  had  lost  as  many  as  a  dozen  men 
at  Laurel  Hill  and  Carrick's  Ford,  whither  the 
enemy  had  fled  in  trying,  Heaven  knows  why, 
to  get  away  from  us.  We  now  "brought  to  the 
task"  of  subduing  the  Rebellion  a  patriotism 
which  never  for  a  moment  doubted  that  a  rebel 
was  a  fiend  accursed  of  God  and  the  angels — 
one  for  whose  extirpation  by  force  and  arms 
each  youth  of  us  considered  himself  specially 
"raised  up." 

It  was  a  strange  country.  Nine  in  ten  of 
us  had  never  seen  a  mountain,  nor  a  hill  as 
high  as  a  church  «pire,  until  we  had  crossed 
the  Ohio  River.  In  power  upon  the  emotions 
nothing,  I  think,  is  comparable  to  a  first  sight 
of  mountains.  To  a  member  of  a  plains-tribe, 
born  and  reared  on  the  flats  of  Ohio  or  In- 
diana, a  mountain  region  was  a  perpetual 
miracle.  Space  seemed  to  have  taken  on  a  new 
dimension;  areas  to  have  not  only  length  and 
breadth,  but  thickness. 

Modern  literature  is  full  of  evidence  that  our 
great  grandfathers  looked  upon  mountains  with 
aversion  and  horror.  The  poets  of  even  the 
seventeenth  century  never  tire  of  damning  them 
in  good,  set  terms.    If  they  had  had  the  unhap- 


OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  5 

piness  to  read  the  opening  lines  of  'The  Pleas- 
ures of  Hope,"  they  would  assuredly  have 
thought  Master  Campbell  had  gone  funny  and 
should  be  shut  up  lest  he  do  himself  an  injury. 

The  flatlanders  who  invaded  the  Cheat  Moun- 
tain country  had  been  suckled  in  another  creed, 
and  to  them  western  Virginia — there  was,  as 
yet,  no  West  Virginia — was  an  enchanted  land. 
How  we  reveled  in  its  savage  beauties!  With 
what  pure  delight  we  inhaled  its  fragrances  of 
spruce  and  pine!  How  we  stared  with  some- 
thing like  awe  at  its  clumps  of  laurel! — real 
laurel,  as  we  understood  the  matter,  whose 
foliage  had  been  once  accounted  excellent  for 
the  heads  of  illustrious  Romans  and  such — 
mayhap  to  reduce  the  swelling.  We  carved  its 
roots  into  finger-rings  and  pipes.  We  gathered 
spruce-gum  and  sent  it  to  our  sweethearts  in 
letters.  We  ascended  every  hill  within  our 
picket-lines  and  called  it  a  "peak." 

And.  by  the  way,  during  those  halcyon  days 
(the  halcyon  was  there,  too,  chattering  above 
every  creek,  as  he  is  all  over  the  world)  we 
fought  another  battle.  It  has  not  got  into 
history,  but  it  had  a  real  objective  existence, 
although  by  a  felicitous  afterthought  called 
by  us  who  were  defeated  a  "reconnaissance  in 
force."  Its  short  and  simple  annals  are  that 
we  marched  a  long  way  and  lay  down  before 
a  fortified  camp  of  the  enemy  at  the  farther 
edge  of  the  valley.  Our  commander  had  the 
forethought  to  see  that  we  lay  well  out  of 
range  of  the  small-arms  of  the  period.  A  dis- 
advantage of  this  arrangement  was  that  the 
enemy  was  out  of  reach  of  us  as  well,  for  our 


6  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

rifles  were  no  better  than  his.  Unfortunately 
— one  might  almost  say  unfairly — he  had  a  few 
pieces  of  artillery  very  well  protected,  and 
with  those  he  mauled  us  to  the  eminent  satis- 
faction of  his  mind  and  heart.  So  we  parted 
from  him  in  anger  and  returned  to  our  own 
place,  leaving  our  dead — not  many. 

Among  them  was  a  chap  belonging  to  my 
company,  named -Abbott;  it  is  not  odd  that  I 
recollect  it,  for  there  was  something  unusual 
in  the  manner  of  Abbott's  taking  off.  He  was 
lying  flat  upon  his  stomach  and  was  killed 
by  being  struck  in  the  side  by  a  nearly  spent 
cannon-shot  that  came  rolling  in  among  us. 
The  shot  remained  in  him  until  removed.  It 
was  a  solid  round-shot,  evidently  cast  in  some 
private  foundry,  whose  proprietor,  setting  the 
laws  of  thrift  above  those  of  ballistics,  had 
put  his  "imprint?  upon  it:  it  bore,  in  slightly 
sunken  letters,  the  name  "Abbott."  That  is 
what  I  was  told — I  was  not   present. 

It  was  after  this,  when  the  nights  had  ac- 
quired a  trick  of  biting  and  the  morning  sun 
appeared  to  shiver  with  cold,  that  we  moved 
up  to  the  summit  of  Cheat  Mountain  to  guard 
the  pass  through  which  nobody  wanted  to  go. 
Here  we  slew  the  forest  and  builded  us  giant 
habitations  (astride  the  road  from  Nowhere 
to  the  southeast)  commodious  to  lodge  an 
army  and  fitly  loopholed  for  discomfiture  of 
the  adversary.  The  long  logs  that  it  was  our 
pride  to  cut  and  carry!  The  accuracy  with 
which  we  laid  them  one  upon  another,  hewn 
to  the  line  and  bullet-proof!  The  Cyclopean 
doors   that    we   hung,   with    sliding   bolts   fit   to 


OP   THE   CIVIL    WAi;  7 

be  "the  mast  of  some  great  admiral!"  And 
when  we  had  "made  the  pile  complete"  some 
marplot  of  the  Regular  Army  came  that  way 
and  chatted  a  few  moments  with  our  com- 
mander, and  wre  made  an  earthwork  away  off 
on  one  side  of  the  road  (leaving  the  other  side 
to  take  care  of  itself)  and  camped  outside  it 
in  tents!  But  the  Regular  Army  fellow  had 
not  the  heart  to  suggest  the  demolition  of  our 
Towers  of  Babel,  and  the  foundations  remain 
to  this  day  to  attest  the  genius  of  the  Ameri- 
can volunteer  soldiery. 

We  were  the  original  game-preservers  of 
the  Cheat  Mountain  region,  for  although  we 
hunted  in  season  and  out  of  season  over  as 
wide  an  area  as  we  dared  to  cover  we  took 
less  game,  probably,  than  would  have  been 
taken  by  a  certain  single  hunter  of  disloyal 
views  whom  we  scared  away.  There  were 
bear  galore  and  deer  in  quantity,  and  many 
a  winter  day,  in  snow  up  to  his  knees,  did 
the  writer  of  this  pass  in  tracking  bruin  to 
his  den,  where,  I  am  bound  to  say,  I  com- 
monly left  him.  I  agreed  with  my  lamented 
friend,  the  late  Robert  Weeks,  poet: 

Pursuit  may  be,  it  seems  to  me, 
Perfect  without  possession. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  wealthy 
sportsmen  who  have  made  a  preserve  of  the 
Cheat  Mountain  region  will  find  plenty  of 
game  if  it  has  not  died  since  1861.  We  left 
it   there. 

Yet  hunting  and  idling  were  not  the  whole 
of  life's  programme  up  there  on  that  wild  ridge 


*  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

with  its  shaggy  pelt  of  spruce  and  firs,  and 
in  the  riparian  lowlands  that  it  parted.  We 
had  a  bit  of  war  now  and  again.  There  was 
an  occasional  "affair  of  outposts";  sometimes 
a  hazardous  scout  into  the  enemy's  country, 
ordered,  I  fear,  more  to  keep  up  the  appear- 
ance of  doing  something  than  with  a  hope  of 
accomplishing  a  military  result.  But  one  day 
it  was  bruited  about  that  a  movement  in  force 
was  to  be  made  on  the  enemy's  position  miles 
away,  at  the  summit  of  fhe  main  ridge  of  the 
Alleghanies — the  camp  whose  faint  blue  smoke 
we  had  watched  for  weary  days.  The  move- 
ment was  made,  as  was  the  fashion  in  those 
'prentice  days  of  warfare,  in  two  columns, 
which  were  to  pounce  upon  the  foeman  from 
opposite  sides  at  the  same  moment.  Led  over 
unknown  roads  by  untrusty  guides,  encounter- 
ing obstacles  not  foreseen — miles  apart  and 
without  communication,  the  two  columns  in- 
variably failed  to  execute  the  movement  with 
requisite  secrecy  and  precision.  The  enemy, 
in  enjoyment  of  that  inestimable  military  advan- 
tage known  in  civilian  speech  as  being  "sur- 
rounded," always  beat  the  attacking  columns 
one  at  a  time  or,  turning  red-handed  from  the 
wreck  of  the  first,  frightened  the  other  away. 

All  one  bright  wintry  day  we  marched  down 
from  our  eyrie;  all  one  bright  wintry  night  we 
climbed  the  great  wooded  ridge  opposite.  How 
romantic  it  all  was;  the  sunset  valleys  full  of 
visible  sleep;  the  glades  suffused  and  inter- 
penetrated with  moonlight;  the  long  valley  of 
the  Greenbrier  stretching  away  to  we  knew 
not  what  silent  cities;    the  river  itself  unseen 


OF   THE  CIVIL  WAR  9 

under  its  "astral  body"  of  mist!      Then  there 
was  the  "spice  of  danger." 

Once  we  heard  shots  in  front;  then  there 
was  a  long  wait.  As  we  trudged  on  we  passed 
something — some  things — lying  by  the  wayside. 
During  another  wait  we  examined  them,  curi- 
ously lifting  the  blankets  from  their  yellow- 
clay  faces.  How  repulsive  they  looked  with 
the'r  blood-smears,  their  blank,  staring  eyes, 
their  teeth  uncovered  by  contraction  of  the 
lips]  The  frost  had  begun  already  to  whiten 
their  deranged  clothing.  We  were  as  patriotic 
ns  ever,  but  we  did  not  wish  to  be  that  way. 
For  an  hour  afterward  the  injunction  of  silence 
in  the  ranks  was  needless. 


Repassing  the  spot  the  next  day,  a  beaten, 
dispirited  and  exhausted  force,  feeble  from 
fatigue  and  savage  from  defeat,  some  of  us  had 
life  enough  left,  such  as  it  was,  to  observe  that 
these  bodies  had  altered  their  positions.  They 
appeared  also  to  have  thrown  off  some  of  their 
clothing,  which  lay  near  by,  in  disorder.  Their 
expression,  too,  had  an  added  blankness — they 
had  no  faces. 

As  soon  as  the  head  of  our  straggling  column 
had  reached  the  spot  a  desultory  firing  had 
begun.  One  might  have  thought  the  living  paid 
honors  to  the  dead.  No;  the  firing  was  a 
military  execution;  the  condemned,  a  herd  of 
galloping  swine.  They  had  eaten  our  fallen, 
but — touching  magnanimity! — we  did  not  eat 
theirs. 

The  shooting  of  several  kinds  was  very  good 
:n  the  Cheat  Monrt***!!  country,  even  in  1861. 


►RIES 


A  LITTLE  OF  CHICKAMAUGA 

The  history  of  that  awful  struggle  is  well 
known — I  have  not  the  intention  to  record  it 
here,  but  only  to  relate  some  part  of  what  I 
saw  of  it;  my  purpose  not  instruction,  bur 
entertainment. 

I  was  an  officer  of  the  staff  of  a  Federal 
brigade.  Chickamauga  was  not  my  first  bat- 
tle by  many,  for  although  hardly  more  than  a 
boy  in  years,  I  had  served  at  the  front  from 
the  beginning  of  the  trouble,  and  had  seen 
enough  of  war  to  give  me  a  fair  understanding 
of  it.  We  knew  well  enough  that  there  was  to 
be  a  fight:  the  fact  that  we  did  not  want  one 
would  have  told  us  that,  for  Bragg  always 
retired  when  we  wanted  to  fight  and  fought 
when  we  most  desired  peace.  We  had  maneu- 
vered him  out  of  Chattanooga,  but  had  not 
maneuvered  our  entire  army  into  it.  and  he  fell 
back  so  sullenly  that  those  of  us  who  followed, 
keeping  him  actually  in  sight,  were  a  good  deal 
more  concerned  about  effecting  a  junction  with 
the  rest  of  our  army  than  to  push  the  pursuit 
By  the  time  that  Rosecrans  had  got  his  three 
scattered  corps  together  we  were  a  long  way 
from  Chattanooga,  with  our  line  of  communi- 
cation with  it  so  exposed  that  Bragg  turned 
to  seize  it.  Chickamauga  was  a  fight  for 
possession   of   a   road. 

Back  along  this  road  raced  Crittenden's 
corps,  with  those  of  Thomas  and  McCook, 
which  had  not  before  traversed  it.  The  whole 
army  was  moving  by  its  left. 


OF   THE  CIVIL  WAIL  11 

There  was  sharp  fighting  all  along  and  all 
day,  for  the  forest  was  so  dense  that  the  hos- 
tile lines  came  almost  into  contact  before 
fighting  was  possible.  One  instance  was  par- 
ticularly horrible.  After  some  hours  of  close 
engagement  my  brigade,  with  foul  pieces  and 
exhausted  cartridge  boxes,  was  relieved  and 
withdrawn  to  the  road  to  protect  several  bat- 
teries of  artillery — probably  two  dozen  pieces 
— which  commanded  an  open  field  in  the  rear 
of  our  line.  Before  our  weary  and  virtually 
disarmed  men  had  actually  reached  the  guns 
the  line  in  front  gave  way,  fell  back  behind 
the  guns  and  went  on,  the  Lord  knows  whither. 
A  moment  later  the  field  was  gray  with  Con- 
federates in  pursuit.  Then  the  guns  opened 
fire  with  grape  and  canister  and  for  perhaps 
five  minutes — it  seemed  an  hour — nothing 
could  be  heard  that  the  infernal  din  of  their 
discharge  and  nothing  seen  through  the  smoke 
but  a  great  ascension  of  dust  from  the  smitten 
soil.  When  all  was  over,  and  the  dust  cloud 
had  lifted,  the  spectacle  was  too  dreadful  to 
ibe.  The  Confederates  were  still  there — 
all  of  them,  it  seemed — some  almost  under  the 
muzzles  of  the  guns.  But  not  a  man  of  all 
these  brave  fellows  was  on  his  feet,  and  so 
thickly  were  all  covered  with  dust  that  they 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  reclothed  in  yellow. 

"We  bury  our  dead,"  said  a  gunner,  grimly, 
though  doubtless  all  were  afterward  dug  out, 
ome  were  partly  alive. 

To  a  "day  of  danger"  succeeded  a  "night  of 
waking."  The  enemy,  everywhere  held  back 
from    the    road,    continued    to    stretch    his    line 


12  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

northward  in  the  hope  to  overlap  us  and  put 
himself  between  us  and  Chattanooga.  We 
neither  saw  nor  heard  his  movement,  but  any 
man  with  half  a  head  would  have  known  that 
he  was  making  it,  and  we  met  by  a  parallel 
movement  to  our  left.  By  morning  we  had 
edged  along  a  good  way  and  thrown  up  rude 
intrenchments  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
road,  on  the  threatened  side.  The  day  was 
not  very  far  advanced  when  we  were  attacked 
furiously  all  along  the  line,  beginning  at  the 
left.  When  repulsed,  the  enemy  came  again 
and  again — his  persistence  was  dispiriting.  He 
seemed  to  be  using  against  us  the  law  of  prob- 
abilities: for  so  many  efforts  one  would  eventu- 
ally succeed. 

One  did,  and  it  was  my  luck  to  see  it  wir 
I  had  been  sent  by  my  chief,  General  Haze", 
to  order  up  some  artillery  ammunition  a?  ' 
rode  away  to  the  right  and  rear  in  search  of  i 
Finding  an  ordnance  train  I  obtained  from 
the  officer  in  charge  a  few  wagons  loaded  with 
what  I  wanted,  but  he  seemed  in  doubt  as  to 
our  occupancy  of  the  region  across  which  I 
proposed  to  guide  them.  Although  assured  that; 
I  had  just  traversed  it,  and  that  it  lay  imme- 
diately behind  Wood's  division,  he  insisted  on 
riding  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  behind  which  Irs 
train  lay  and  overlooking  the  ground.  We  did 
so,  when  to  my  astonishment  I  saw  the  entire 
country  in  front  swarming  with  Confederates* 
the  very  earth  seemed  to  be  moving  towaH 
us!  They  came  on  in  thousands,  and  so  rapid- 
ly that  we  had  barely  time  to  turn  tail  anr! 
gallop   down   the   hill   and   away,   leaving  them 


OF   THE   CIVIL,   WAR  13 

in  possession  of  the  train,  many  of  the  wagons 
being  upset  by  frantic  efforts  to  put  them 
about.  By  what  miracle  that  officer  had  sensed 
the  situation  I  did  not  learn,  for  we  parted  com- 
pany then  and  there  and  I  never  again  saw 
him. 

By  a  misunderstanding  Wood's  division  had 
been  withdrawn  from  our  line  of  battle  just 
as  the  enemy  was  making  an  assault.  Through 
the  gap  of  half  a  mile  the  Confederates  charged 
without  opposition,  cutting  our  army  clean  in 
two.  The  right  divisions  were  broken  up  and 
with  General  Rosecrans  in  their  midst  fled 
how  they  could  across  the  country,  eventually 
bringing  up  in  Chattanooga,  whence  Rosecrans 
telegraphed  to  Washington  the  destruction  of 
the  rest  of  his  army.  The  rest  of  his  army 
was  standing  its  ground. 

A  good  deal  of  nonsense  used  to  be  talked 
about  the  heroism  of  General  Garfield,  who, 
caught  in  the  rout  of  the  right,  nevertheless 
went  back  and  joined  the  undefeated  left  un- 
der General  Thomas.  There  was  no  great 
heroism  in  it;  that  is  what  every  man  should 
have  done,  including  the  commander  of  the 
army.  We  could  hear  Thomas's  guns  going — 
those  of  us  who  had  ears  for  them — and  all 
that  was  needful  was  to  make  a  sufficiently 
wide  detour  and  then  move  toward  the  sound. 
I  did  so  myself,  and  have  never  felt  that  it 
ought  to  make  me  President.  Moreover,  on  my 
way  I  met  General  Negley,  and  my  duties  as 
topographical  engineer  having  given  me  some 
knowledge  of  the  lay  of  the  land  offered  to 
pilot  him  back  to  glory  or  the  grave.     I  am 


14  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

sorry  to  say  my  good  offices  were  rejected  a 
little  uncivilly,  which  I  charitably  attributed 
to  the  general's  obvious  absence  of  mind.  His 
mind,  I  think,  was  in  Nashville,  behind  a 
breastwork. 

Unable  to  find  my  brigade,  I  reported  to 
General  Thomas,  wrho  directed  me  to  remain 
with  him.  He  had  assumed  command  of  all 
the  forces  still  intact  and  was  pretty  closely 
beset.  The  battle  was  fierce  and  continuous, 
the  enemy  extending  his  lines  farther  and  far- 
ther around  our  right,  toward  our  line  of  re- 
treat. We  could  not  meet  the  extension  other- 
wise than  by  "refusing"  our  right  flank  and 
letting  him  inclose  us;  which  but  for  gallant 
Gordon  Granger  he  would  inevitably  have  done. 

This  was  the  way  of  it.  Looking  across  the 
fields  in  our  rear  (rather  longingly)  I  had  the 
happy  distinction  of  a  discoverer.  What  I  saw 
was  the  shimmer  of  sunlight  on  metal:  lines 
of  troops  were  coming  in  behind  us!  The  dis- 
tance was  too  great,  the  atmosphere  too  hazy 
to  distinguish  the  color  of  their  uniform,  even 
with  a  glass.  Reporting  my  momentous  "find" 
I  was  directed  by  the  general  to  go  and  see 
who  they  were.  Galloping  toward  them  until 
near  enough  to  see  that  they  were  of  our  kid- 
ney I  hastened  back  with  the  glad  tidings  and 
was  sent  again,  to  guide  them  to  the  general's 
position. 

It  was  General  Granger  with  two  strong 
brigades  of  the  reserve,  moving  soldier-like 
toward  the  sound  of  heavy  firing.  Meeting 
him  and  his  staff  I  directed  him  to  Thomas, 
and  unable  to  think  of  anything  better  to  do 


OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  15 

decided  to  go  visiting.  I  knew  I  had  a  brother 
in  that  gang — an  officer  of  an  Ohio  battery. 
I  soon  found  him  near  the  head  of  a  column, 
and  as  we  moved  forward  we  had  a  comfort- 
able chat  amongst  such  of  the  enemy's  bullets 
as  had  inconsiderately  been  fired  too  high. 
The  incident  was  a  trifle  marred  by  one  of 
them  unhorsing  another  officer  of  the  battery, 
whom  we  propped  against  a  tree  and  left.  A 
few  moments  later  Granger's  force  was  put  in 
on  the  right  and  the  fighting  was  terrific! 

By  accident  I  now  found  Hazen's  brigade 
— or  what  remained  of  it — which  had  made  a 
half-mile  march  to  add  itself  to  the  unrouted  at 
the  memorable  Snodgrass  Hill.  Hazen's  first 
remark  to  me  was  an  inquiry  about  that  artil- 
lery ammunition  that  he  had  sent  me  for. 

It  was  needed  badly  enough,  as  were  other 
kinds:  for  the  last  hour  or  two  of  that  inter- 
minable day  Granger's  were  the  only  men  that 
had  enough  ammunition  to  make  a  five  min- 
utes' fight.  Had  the  Confederates  made  one 
more  general  attack  we  should  have  had  to 
meet  them  with  the  bayonet  alone.  I  don't 
know  why  they  did  not;  probably  they  were 
short  of  ammunition.  I  know,  though,  that 
while  the  sun  was  taking  its  own  time  to  set 
we  lived  through  the  agony  of  at  least  one 
death  each,  waiting  for  them  to  come  on. 

At  last  it  grew  too  dark  to  fight.  Then  away  to 
our  left  and  rear  some  of  Bragg's  people  set  up 
"the  rebel  yell."  It  was  taken  up  successively 
and  passed  round  to  our  front,  along  our  right 
and  in  behind  us  again,  until  it  seemed  almost 
to  have  got  to  the  point  whence  it  started.     It 


16  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

was  the  ugliest  sound  that  any  mortal  ever 
heard — even  a  mortal  exhausted  and  unnerved 
by  two  days  of  hard  fighting,  without  sleep, 
without  rest,  without  food  and  without  hope. 
There  was,  however,  a  space  somewhere  at 
the  back  of  us  across  which  that  horrible  yell 
did  not  prolong  itself;  and  through  that  we 
finally  retired  in  profound  silence  and  dejec- 
tion,  unmolested. 

To  those  of  us  who  have  survived  the  attacks 
of  both  Bragg  and  Time,  and  who  keep  in 
memory  the  dear  dead  comrades  whom  we  left 
upon  that  fateful  field,  the  place  means  much. 
May  it  mean  something  less  to  the  younger 
men  whose  tents  are  now  pitched  where,  with 
bended  heads  and  clasped  hands,  God's  great 
angels  stood  invisible  among  the  heroes  in 
blue  and  the  heroes  in  gray,  sleeping  their  last 
sleep  in  the  woods  of  Chickamauga. 


OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  17 


A  CRIME  AT  PICKETT'S  MILL 

There  is  a  class  of  events  which  by  their  very- 
nature,  and  despite  any  intrinsic  interest  that 
they  may  possess,  are  foredoomed  to  oblivion. 
They  are  merged  in  the  general  story  of  those 
greater  events  of  which  they  were  a  part,  as  t,he 
thunder  of  a  billow  breaking  on  a  distant  beach 
is  unnoted  in  the  continuous  roar.  To  how 
many  having  knowledge  of  the  battles  of  our 
Civil  War  does  the  name  Pickett's  Mill  suggest 
acts  of  heroism  and  devotion  performed  in 
scenes  of  awful  carnage  to  accomplish  the  im- 
possible? Buried  in  the  official  reports  of  the 
victors  there  are  indeed  imperfect  accounts  of 
the  engagement:  the  vanquished  have  not 
thought  it  expedient  to  relate  it.  It  is  ignored 
by  General  Sherman  in  his  memoirs,  yet  Sher- 
man ordered  it.  General  Howard  wrote  an  ac- 
count of  the  campaign  of  which  it  was  an  in- 
cident, and  dismissed  it  in  a  single  sentence; 
yet  General  Howard  planned  it,  and  it  was 
fought  as  an  isolated  and  independent  action 
under  his  eye.  Whether  it  was  so  trifling  an 
affair  as  to  justify  this  inattention  let  the 
reader  judge. 

The  fight  occurred  on  the  27th  of  May,  1864, 
while  the  armies  of  Generals  Sherman  and 
Johnston  confronted  each  other  near  Dallas, 
Georgia,  during  the  memorable  "Atlanta  cam- 
paign." For  three  weeks  we  had  been  pushing 
the  Confederates  southward,  partly  by  ma- 
noeuvring,  partly   by   fighting,   out   of   Dalton, 


18  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

out  of  Resaca,  through  Adairsville,  Kingston 
and  Cassville.  Each  army  offered  battle  every- 
where, but  would  accept  it  only  on  its  own 
terms.  At  Dallas  Johnston  made  another  stand 
and  Sherman,  facing  the  hostile  line,  began  his 
customary  manoeuvring  for  an  advantage.  Gen- 
eral Wood's  division  of  Howard's  corps  oc- 
cupied a  position  opposite  the  Confederate 
right.  Johnston  finding  himself  on  the  26th 
overlapped  by  Schofield,  still  farther  to  Wood's 
left,  retired  his  right  (Polk)  across  a  creek, 
whither  we  followed  him  into  the  woods  with  a 
deal  of  desultory  bickering,  and  at  nightfall  had 
established  the  new  lines  at  nearly  a  right  angle 
with  the  old — Schofield  reaching  well  around 
and  threatening  the  Confederate  rear. 

The  civilian  reader  must  not  suppose  when 
he  reads  accounts  of  military  operations  in 
which  relative  position  of  the  forces  are  de- 
fined, as  in  the  foregoing  passages,  that  these 
were  matters  of  general  knowledge  to  those  en- 
gaged. Such  statements  are  commonly  made, 
even  by  those  high  in  command,  in  the  light 
of  later  disclosures,  such  as  the  enemy's  of- 
ficial reports.  It  is  seldom,  indeed,  that  a  sub- 
ordinate officer  knows  anything  about  the  dis- 
position of  the  enemy's  forces — except  that  it 
is  unamiable — or  precisely  whom  he  is  fighting. 
As  to  the  rank  and  file,  they  can  know  nothing 
more  of  the  matter  than  the  arms  they  carry. 
They  hardly  know  what  troops  are  upon  their 
own  right  or  left  the  length  of  a  regiment  away. 
If  it  is  a  cloudy  day  they  are  ignorant  even  of 
the  points  of  the  compass.  It  may  be  said, 
generally,   that  a   soldier's  knowledge   of   what 


OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  19 

is  going  on  about  him  is  coterminous  with  his 
official  relation  to  it  and  his  personal  connec- 
tion with  it;  what  is  going  on  in  front  of  him 
he  does  not  know  at  all  until  he  learns  it  after- 
ward. 

At  nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  27th 
Wood's  division  was  withdrawn  and  replaced 
by  Stanley's.  Supported  by  Johnson's  division, 
it  moved  at  ten  o'clock  to  the  left,  in  the  rear  of 
Schofield,  a  distance  of  four  miles  through  a 
forest,  and  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  had 
reached  a  position  where  General  Howard  be- 
lieved himself  free  to  move  in  behind  the 
enemy's  forces  and  attack  them  in  the  rear,  or 
at  least,  striking  them  in  the  flank,  crush  his 
way  along  their  line  in  the  direction  of  its 
length,  throw  them  into  confusion  and  prepare 
an  easy  victory  for  a  supporting  attack  in  front. 
In  selecting  General  Howard  for  this  bold  ad- 
venture General  Sherman  was  doubtless  not 
unmindful  of  Chancellorsville,  where  Stonewall 
Jackson  had  executed  a  similar  manoeuvre  for 
Howard's  instruction.  Experience  is  a  normal 
school:  it  teaches  how  to  teach. 

There  are  some  differences  to  be  noted.  At 
Chancellorsville  it  was  Jackson  who  attacked; 
at  Pickett's  Mill,  Howard.  At  Chancellorsville 
it  was  Howard  who  was  assailed;  at  Pickett's 
Mill,  Hood.  The  significance  of  the  first  dis- 
tinction is  doubled  by  that  of  the  second. 

The  attack,  it  was  understood,  was  to  be 
made  in  column  of  brigades,  Hazen's  brigade  of 
Wood's  division  leading.  That  such  was  at 
least  Hazen's  understanding  I  learned  from  his 
own   lips   during  the   movement,   as   I   was   an 


id  >N(  >CI*ASTIC  MEM<  >RIES 

officer  of  his  staff.  But  after  a  march  of  less 
than  a  mile  an  hour  and  a  further  delay  of 
three  hours  at  the  end  of  it  to  acquaint  the 
enemy  of  our  intention  to  surprise  him,  our 
single  shrunken  brigade  of  fifteen  hundred  men 
was  sent  forward  without  support  to  double  up 
the  army  of  General  Johnston.  "We  will  put 
in  Hazen  and  see  what  success  he  has."  In 
these  words  of  General  Wood  to  General  How- 
ard we  were  first  apprised  of  the  true  nature 
of  the  distinction  about  to  be  conferred  upon  us. 

General  W.  B.  Hazen,  a  born  fighter,  an  edu- 
cated soldier,  after  the  war  Chief  Signal  Officer 
of  the  Army  and  now  long  dead,  was  the  best 
hated  man  that  I  ever  knew,  and  his  very 
memory  is  a  terror  to  every  unworthy  soul  in 
the  service.  His  was  a  stormy  life:  he  was  in 
trouble  all  around.  Grant,  Sherman,  Sheridan 
and  a  countless  multitude  of  the  less  eminent 
luckless  had  the  misfortune,  at  one  time  and 
another,  to  incur  his  disfavor,  and  he  tried  to 
punish  them  all.  He  was  always — after  the  war 
— the  central  figure  of  a  court  martial  or  a  Con- 
gressional inquiry,  was  accused  of  everything, 
from  stealing  to  cowardice,  was  banished  to 
obscure  posts,  "jumped  on"  by  the  press,  tra- 
duced in  public  and  in  private,  and  always 
emerged  triumphant.  While  Signal  Officer,  he 
went  up  against  the  Secretary  of  War  and  put 
him  to  the  controversial  sword.  He  convicted 
Sheridan  of  falsehood,  Sherman  of  barbarism, 
Grant  of  inefficiency.  He  was  aggressive,  ar- 
rogant, tyrannical,  honorable,  truthful,  courage- 
ous— a  skillful  soldier,  a  faithful  friend  and  one 
of  the   most  exasperating  of  men.     Duty  was 


OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  21 

his  religion,  and  like  the  Moslem  he  proselyted 
with  the  sword.  His  missionary  efforts  were 
directed  chiefly  against  the  spiritual  darkness 
of  his  superiors  in  rank,  though  he  would  turn 
aside  from  pursuit  of  his  erring  commander  to 
set  a  chicken-thieving  orderly  astride  a  wooden 
horse,  with  a  heavy  stone  attached  to  each 
foot.  "Hazen,"  said  a  brother  brigadier,  "is  a 
synonym  of  insubordination."  For  my  com- 
mander and  my  friend,  my  master  in  the  art 
of  war,  now  unable  to  answer  for  himself,  let 
this  fact  answer:  when  he  heard  Wood  say  they 
would  put  him  in  and  see  what  success  he 
would  have  in  defeating  an  army — when  he  saw 
Howard  assent — he  uttered  never  a  word,  rode 
to  the  head  of  his  feeble  brigade  and  patiently 
awaited  the  command  to  go.  Only  by  a  look 
which  I  knew  how  to  read  did  he  betray  his 
sense   of  the   criminal   blunder. 

The  enemy  had  now  had  seven  hours  in 
which  to  learn  of  the  movement  and  prepare  to 
meet  it.     General  Johnston  says: 

"The  Federal  troops  extended  their  intrenched 
line  [we  did  not  intrench]  so  rapidly  to  their 
left  that  it  was  found  necessary  to  transfer 
Cleburne's  division  to  Hardee's  corps  to  our 
right,  where  it  was  formed  on  the  prolongation 
of  Polk's  line." 

General  Hood,  commanding  the  enemy's  right 
corps,  says: 

"On  the  morning  of  the  27th  the  enemy  were 
known  to  be  rapidly  extending  their  left,  af- 
tempting  to  turn  my  right  as  they  extended 
Cleburne  was  deployed  to  meet  them,  and  af4 
ha  If -pas'  five  p.  m.,  a  very  stubborn  attack  w- 


22  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

made  on  this  division,  extending  to  the  right, 
where  Major-General  Wheeler  with  his  cavalry 
division  was  engaging  them.  The  assault  was 
continued  with  great  determination  upon  both 
Cleburne  and  Wheeler." 

That,  then,  was  the  situation:  a  weak  bri- 
gade of  fifteen  hundred  men,  with  masses  of 
idle  troops  behind  in  the  character  of  audience, 
waiting  for  the  word  to  march  a  quarter-mile 
uphill  through  impassable  tangles  of  underwood, 
along  and  across  precipitous  ravines,  and  attack 
breastworks  constructed  at  leisure  and  manned 
with  two  divisions  of  troops  as  good  as  them- 
selves. True,  we  did  not  know  all  this,  but  if 
any  man  on  that  ground  besides  Wood  and 
Howard  expected  a  "walkover"  his  must  have 
been  a  singularly  hopeful  disposition.  As  topo- 
graphical engineer  it  had  been  my  duty  to  make 
a  hasty  examination  of  the  ground  in  front. 
In  doing  so  I  had  pushed  far  enough  forward 
through  the  forest  to  hear  distinctly  the  mur- 
mur of  the  enemy  awaiting  us,  and  this  had 
been  duly  reported;  but  from  our  lines  nothing 
could  be  heard  but  the  wind  among  the  trees 
and  the  songs  of  birds.  Some  one  said  it  was  a 
pity  to  frighten  them,  but  there  would  neces- 
sarily be  more  or  less  noise.  We  laughed  at 
that:  men  awaiting  death  on  the  battlefield 
laugh  easily,  though  not  infectiously. 

The  brigade  was  formed  in  four  battalions, 
two  in  front  and  two  in  rear.  This  gave  us  a 
front  of  about  two  hundred  yards.  The  right 
front  battalion  was  commanded  by  Colonel  R. 
L.  Kimberly  of  the  41st  Ohio,  the  left  by  Colonel 
O.   H.   Payne  of  the   124th   Ohio,  the  rear   bat- 


OF   THE   CIVIL   WAR  I 

talions  by  Colonel  J.  C.  Foy,  23d  Kentucky,  and 
Colonel  W.  W.  Berry,  5th  Kentucky — all  brave 
and  skillful  officers,  tested  by  experience  on 
many  fields.  The  whole  command  (known  as 
the  Second  Brigade,  Third  Division,  Fourth 
Corps)  consisted  of  no  fewer  than  nine  regi- 
ments, reduced  by  long  service  to  an  average 
of  less  than  two  hundred  men  each.  With  full 
ranks  and  only  the  necessary  details  for  special 
duty  we  should  have  had  some  eight  thousand 
•  ifles  in  line. 

We  moved  forward.  In  less  than  one  min- 
ute the  trim  battalions  had  become  simply  a 
swarm  of  men  struggling  through  the  under- 
growth of  the  forest,  pushing  and  crowding. 
The  front  was  irregularly  serrated,  the  strongest 
and  bravest  in  advance,  the  others  following  in 
fan-like  formations,  variable  and  inconstant, 
ever  defining  themselves  anew.  For  the  first 
two  hundred  yards  our  course  lay  along  the 
left  bank  of  a  small  creek  in  a  deep  ravine,  our 
left  battalions  sweeping  along  its  steep  slope. 
Then  we  came  to  the  fork  of  the  ravine.  A  part 
of  us  crossed  below,  the  rest  above,  passing  over 
both  branches,  the  regiments  inextricably  inter- 
mingled, rendering  all  military  formation  im- 
possible. The  color-bearers  kept  well  to  the 
front  with  their  flags,  closely  furled,  aslant 
backward  over  their  shoulders.  Displayed, 
they  would  have  been  torn  to  rags  by  the 
boughs  of  the  trees.  Horses  were  all  sent  to 
the  rear;  the  general  and  staff  and  all  the 
field  officers  toiled  along  on  foot  as  best  they 
could.  "We  shall  halt  and  form  when  we  get 
out  of  this,"  said  an  aide-de-camp. 


24  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

Suddenly  there  came  a  ringing  rattle  of 
musketry,  the  familiar  hissing  of  bullets,  and 
before  us  the  interspaces  of  the  forest  were  all 
blue  with  smoke.  Hoarse,  fierce  yells  broke  out 
of  a  thousand  throats.  The  forward  fringe  of 
brave  and  hardy  assailants  was  arrested  in  its 
mutable  extensions;  the  edge  of  our  swarm 
grew  dense  and  clearly  defined  as  the  foremost 
halted,  and  the  rest  pressed  forward  to  align 
themselves  beside  them,  all  firing.  The  uproar 
was  deafening;  the  air  was  sibilant  with 
streams  and  sheets  of  missiles.  In  the  steady, 
unvarying  roar  of  small-arms  the  frequent  shock 
of  the  cannon  was  rather  felt  than  heard,  but 
the  gusts  of  grape  which  they  blew  into  that 
populous  wood  were  audible  enough,  screaming 
among  the  trees  and  cracking  their  stems  and 
branches.  We  had,  of  course,  no  artillery  to 
reply. 

Our  brave  color-bearers  were  now  all  in  the 
forefront  of  battle  in  the  open,  for  the  enemy 
had  cleared  a  space  in  front  of  his  breastworks. 
They  held  the  colors  erect,  shook  out  their 
glories,  waved  them  forward  and  back  to  keep 
them  spread,  for  there  was  no  wind.  From 
where  I  stood,  at  the  right  of  the  line — we  had 
"halted  and  formed, "  indeed — I  could  see  six 
of  our  flags  at  one  time.  Occasionally  one  would 
go  down,  only  to  be  instantly  lifted  by  other 
hands. 

I  must  here  quote  again  from  General 
Johnston's  account  of  this  engagement,  for 
nothing  could  more  truly  indicate  the  resolute 
nature  of  the  attack  tban  the  Confederate  belief  • 


OF  THE   CIVIL    WAR  25 

that  it  was  made  by  the  whole  Fourth  Corps, 
instead  of  one  weak  brigade: 

"The  Fourth  Corps  came  on  in  deep  order  and 
assailed  the  Texans  with  great  vigor,  receiving 
their  close  and  accurate  fire  with  the  fortitude 
always  exhibited  by  General  Sherman's  troops 
in  the  actions  of  this  campaign.  .  .  .  The  Federal 
troops  approached  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
Confederates,  but  at  last  were  forced  to  give 
way  by  their  storm  of  well-directed  bullets,  and 
fell  back  to  the  shelter  of  a  hollow  near  and  be- 
hind them.  They  left  hundreds  of  corpses  with- 
in twenty  paces  of  the  Confederate  line.  When 
the  United  States  troops  paused  in  their  ad- 
vance within  fifteen  paces  of  the  Texan  front 
rank  one  of  their  color-bearers  planted  his 
colors  eight  or  ten  feet  in  front  of  his  regiment, 
and  was  instantly  shot  dead.  A  soldier  sprang 
forward  to  his  place  and  fell  also  as  he  grasped 
the  color-staff.  A  second  and  third  followed 
successively,  and  each  received  death  as  speed- 
ily as  his  predecessors.  A  fourth,  however, 
seized  and  bore  back  the  object  of  soldierly 
devotion." 

Such  incidents  have  occurred  in  battle  from 
time  to  time  since  men  began  to  venerate  the 
symbols  of  their  cause,  but  they  are  not  com- 
monly related  by  the  enemy.  If  General  John- 
ston had  known  that  his  veteran  divisions  were 
throwing  their  successive  lines  against  fewer 
than  fifteen  hundred  men  his  glowing  tribute 
to  his  enemy's  valor  could  hardly  have  been 
more  generously  expressed.  I  can  attest  the 
truth  of  his  soldierly>  praise:  I  saw  the  occur- 
rence that  he  relates  and  regret  that  I  am  tin- 


[O  >N<  ELASTIC  MEMORIES 

able  to  recall  even  the  name  of  the  regiment 
whose  colors  were  so  gallantly  saved. 

Early  in  my  military  experience  I  used  to  ask 
myself  how  it  was  that  brave  troops  could  re- 
treat while  still  their  courage  was  high.  As 
long  as  a  man  is  not  disabled  he  can  go  for- 
ward; can  it  be  anything  but  fear  that  makes 
him  stop  and  finally  retire?  Are  there  signs 
by  which  he  can  infallibly  know  the  struggle 
to  be  hopeless?  In  this  engagement,  as  in 
others,  my  doubts  were  answered  as  to  the  fact; 
the  explanation  is  still  obscure.  In  many  in- 
stances which  have  come  under  my  observation, 
when  hostile  lines  of  infantry  engage  at  close 
range  and  the  assailants  afterward  retire,  there 
was  a  "dead-line"  beyond  which  no  man  ad- 
vanced but  to  fall.  Not  a  soul  of  them  ever 
reached  the  enemy's  front  to  be  bayoneted  or 
captured.  It  was  a  matter  of  the  difference  of 
three  or  four  paces — too  small  a  distance  to 
affect  the  accuracy  of  aim.  In  these  affairs  no 
aim  is  taken  at  individual  antagonists;  the 
soldier  delivers  his  fire  at  the  thickest  mass  in 
his  front.  The  fire  is,  of  course,  as  deadly  at 
twenty  paces  as  at  fifteen;  at  fifteen  as  at  ten. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  the  "dead-line,"  with  its 
well-defined  edge  of  corpses — those  of  the 
bravest.  Where  both  lines  are  fighting  without 
cover — as  in  a  charge  met  by  a  counter-charge — 
each  has  its  "dead-line,"  and  between  the  two 
is  a  clear  space — neutral  ground,  devoid  of 
dead,  for  the  living  cannot  reach  it  to  fall  there. 

I  observed  this  phenomenon  at  Pickett's 
Mill.  Standing  at  the  right  of  the  line  I  had 
an  unobstructed  view  of  the  narrow,  open  space 


OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  11 

across  which  the  two  lines  fought.  It  was 
dim  with  smoke,  but  not  greatly  obscured:  the 
smoke  rose  and  spread  in  sheets  among  the 
branches  of  the  trees.  Most  of  our  men  fought 
kneeling  as  they  fired,  many  of  them  behind 
trees,  stones  and  whatever  cover  they  could  get, 
but  there  were  considerable  groups  that  stood. 
1  Occasionally  one  of  these  groups,  which  had 
endured  the  storm  of  missiles  for  moments 
without  perceptible  reduction,  would  push  for- 
ward, moved  by  a  common  despair,  and  wholly 
detach  itself  from  the  line.  In  a  second  every 
man  of  the  group  would  be  down.  There  had 
been  no  visible  movement  of  the  enemy,  no 
audible  change  in  the  awful,  even  roar  of  the 
firing — yet  all  were  down.  Frequently  the  dim 
figure  of  an  individual  soldier  would  be  seen 
to  spring  away  from  his  comrades,  advancing 
alone  toward  that  fateful  interspace,  with 
leveled  bayonet.  He  got  no  farther  than  the 
farthest  of  his  predecessors.  Of  the  "hun- 
dreds of  corpses  within  twenty  paces  of  the 
Confederate  line,"  I  venture  to  say  that  a  third 
were  within  fifteen  paces,  and  not  one  within 
ten. 

It  is  the  perception — perhaps  unconscious^ 
of  this  inexplicable  phenomenon  that  causes 
the  still  unharmed,  still  vigorous  and  still  cour- 
ageous soldier  to  retire  without  having  come 
into  actual  contact  with  his  foe.  He  sees,  or 
feels,  that  he  cannot.  His  bayonet  is  a  useless 
weapon  for  slaughter;  its  purpose  is  a  moral 
one.  Tts  mandate  exhausted,  he  sheathes  it 
and   trusts   to   the  bullet.     That    falling,   he  re 


28  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

treats.     He  has  done  all  that  he  could  do  with 
such  appliances  as  he  has. 

No  command  to  fall  back  was  given,  none 
could  have  been  heard.  Man  by  man,  the  sur- 
vivors withdrew  at  will,  sifting  through  the 
trees  into  the  cover  of  the  ravines,  among  the 
wounded  who  could  draw  themselves  back; 
among  the  skulkers  whom  nothing  could  have 
dragged  forward.  The  left  of  our  short  line 
had  fought  at  the  cornpr  of  a  cornfield,  the 
fence  along  the  right  side  of  which  was  parallel 
to  the  direction  of  our  retreat.  As  the  dis- 
organized groups  fell  back  along  this  fence  on 
the  wooded  side,  they  were  attacked  by  a  flank- 
ing force  of  the  enemy  moving  through  the  field 
in  a  direction  nearly  parallel  with  what  had 
been  our  front.  This  force,  I  infer  from  Gen- 
eral Johnston's  account,  consisted  of  the  bri- 
gade of  General  Lowry,  or  two  Arkansas  regi- 
ments under  Colonel  Baucum.  I  had  been  sent 
by  General  Hazen  to  that  point  and  arrived  in 
time  to  witness  this  formidable  movement. 
But  already  our  retreating  men,  in  obedience  to 
their  officers,  their  courage  and  their  instinct 
of  self-preservation,  had  formed  along  the  fence 
and  opened  fire.  The  apparently  slight  ad- 
vantage of  the  imperfect  cover  and  the  open 
range  worked  its  customary  miracle:  the  as- 
sault, a  singularly  spiritless  one,  considering 
the  advantages  it  promised  and  that  it  was 
made  by  an  organized  and  victorious  force 
against  a  broken  and  retreating  one,  was 
checked.  The  assailants  actually  retired,  and  if 
they  afterward  renewed  the  movement  they  en- 
countered  none  but  our   dead  and   wounded. 


OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  20 

The  battle,  as  a  battle,  was  at  an  end,  but 
there  was  still  some  slaughtering  that  it  was 
possible  to  incur  before  nightfall;  and  as  the 
wreck  of  our  brigade  drifted  back  through  the 
forest  we  met  the  brigade  (Gibson's)  which, 
had  the  attack  been  made  in  column,  as  it 
should  have  been,  would  have  been  but  five 
minutes  behind  our  heels,  with  another  five 
minutes  behind  its  own.  As  it  was,  just  forty- 
five  minutes  had  elapsed,  during  which  the 
enemy  had  destroyed  us  and  was  now  ready  to 
perform  the  same  kindly  office  for  our  suc- 
cessors. Neither  Gibson  nor  the  brigade  which 
was  sent  to  his  "relief"  as  tarcftly  as  he  to 
ours  accomplished,  or  could  have  hoped  to  ac- 
complish, anything  whatever.  I  did  not  note 
their  movements,  having  other  duties,  but 
Hazen  in  his  "Narrative  of  Military  Service" 
says: 

"I  witnessed  the  attack  of  the  two  brigades 
following  my  own,  and  none  of  these  (troops) 
advanced  nearer  than  one  hundred  yards  of 
the  enemy's  works.  They  went  in  at  a  run, 
and  as  organizations  wrere  broken  in  less  than 
a  minute." 

Nevertheless  their  losses  were  considerable, 
including  several  hundred  prisoners  taken  from 
a  sheltered  place  whence  they  did  not  care  to 
rise  and  run.  The  entire  loss  was  about  four- 
teen hundred  men,  of  whom  nearly  one-half  fell 
killed  and  wounded  in  Hazen's  brigade  in 
than  thirty  minutes  of  actual  fighting. 

General  Johnston  says: 

"The  Federal  dead  lying  near  our  line  were 
counted  by  many  persons,  officers  and  soldiers. 


30  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

According  to  these  counts  there  were  seven 
hundred   of  them/' 

This  is  obviously  erroneous,  though  I  have 
not  the  means  at  hand  to  ascertain  the  true 
number.  I  remember  that  we  were  all  aston- 
ished at  the  uncommonly  large  proportion  of 
dead  to  wounded — a  consequence  of  the  uncom- 
monly close  range  at  which  most  of  the  fighting 
was  done. 

The  action  took  its  name  from  a  water- 
power  mill  near  by.  This  was  on  a  branch  of 
a  stream  having.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  prosaic 
name  of  Pumpkin  Vine  Creek.  I  have  my  own 
reasons  for  suggesting  that  the  name  of  that 
water-course  be  altered  to  Sunday-School  Run. 


:;i 


WII  \T    I    SAW   OF   SH1LOH 

It  was  plain  that  the  enemy  had  retreated 
to  Corinth.  The  arrival  of  our  fresh  troops 
and  their  successful  passage  of  the  river  had 
disheartened  him.  Three  or  four  of  his  gray 
cavalry  videttes  moving  amongst  the  trees  on 
the  crest  of  a  hill  in  our  front,  and  galloping 
out  of  sight  at  the  crack  of  our  skirmishers' 
rifles,  confirmed  us  in  the  belief;  an  army  face 
to  face  with  its  enemy  does  not  employ  cavalry 
to  watch  its  front.  True,  they  might  be  a  gen- 
eral and  his  staff.  Crowning  this  rise  we 
found  a  level  field,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
width;  beyond  it  a  gentle  acclivity,  covered 
with  an  undergrowth  of  young  oaks,  imper- 
vious to  sight.  We  pushed  on  into  the  open, 
but  the  division  halted  at  the  edge.  Havnm 
orders  to  conform  to  its  movements,  we  halted 
too;  but  that  did  not  suit;  we  received  an  in- 
timation to  proceed.  I  had  performed  this 
sort  of  service  before,  and  in  the  exercise  of 
my  discretion  deployed  my  platoon,  pushing 
it  forward  at  a  run,  with  trailed  arms,  to 
strengthen  the  skirmish  line,  which  I  over- 
took some  thirty  or  forty  yards  from  the  wood. 
Then — I  can't  describe  it — the  forest  seemed 
all  at  once  to  flame  up  and  disappear  with  a 
crash  like  that  of  a  great  wave  upon  the  beach 
— a  crash  that  expired  in  hot  hissings,  and 
the  sickening  "spat"  of  lead  against  flesh. 
A  dozen  ot  my  brave  fellows  tumbled  over 
like  ten-pin*.  Some  struggled  to  their  feet, 
only  to  go  down  again,  and  yet  again.     Thoso 


oJ  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

who  stood  fired  into  the  smoking  brush  and 
doggedly  retired.  We  had  expected  to  find, 
at  most,  a  line  of  skirmishers  similar  to  our 
own;  it  was  with  a  view  to  overcoming  them 
by  a  sudden  coup  at  the  moment  of  collision 
that  I  had  thrown  forward  my  little  reserve. 
What  we  had  found  was  a  line  of  battle,  coolly 
holding  its  fire  till  it  could  count  our  teeth. 
There  was  no  more  to  be  done  but  get  back 
across  the  open  ground,  every  superficial  yard 
of  which  was  throwing  up  its  little  jet  of  mud 
provoked  by  an  impinging  bullet.  We  got 
back,  most  of  us,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the 
ludicrous  incident  of  a  young  officer  who  had 
taken  part  in  the  affair  walking  up  to  his 
colonel,  who  had  been  a  calm  and  apparently 
impartial  spectator,  and  gravely  reporting: 
"The  enemy  is  in  force  just  beyond  this  field, 
sir." 

II 

In  subordination  to  the  design  of  this  nar- 
rative, as  defined  by  its  title,  the  incidents 
related  necessarily  group  themselves  about 
my  own  personality  as  a  center;  and,  as  this 
center,  during  the  few  terrible-hours  of  the  en- 
gagement, maintained  a  variably  constant  re- 
lation to  the  open  field  already  mentioned,  it 
is  important  that  the  reader  should  bear  in 
mind  the  topographical  and  tactical  features 
of  the  local  situation.  The  hither  side  of  the 
field  was  occupied  by  the  front  of  my  brigade 
— a  length  of  two  regiments  in  line,  with 
proper  intervals  for  field  batteries.  During 
the  entire  fight  the  enemy  held  the  slight 
wooded      acclivity      beyond.        The      debatable 


OK   THE   CIVIL   WAR  33 

ground  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  open  was 
broken  and  thickly  wooded  for  miles,  in  some 
places  quite  inaccessible  to  artillery  and  at 
very  few  points  offering  opportunities  for  its 
successful  employment.  As  a  consequence  of 
this  the  two  sides  of  the  field  were  soon  stud- 
ded thickly  with  confronting  guns,  which 
flamed  away  at  one  another  with  amazing  zeul 
and  rather  startling  effect.  Of  course,  an  in- 
fantry attack  delivered  from  either  side  waj 
not  to  be  thought  of  when  the  covered  flank:; 
offered  inducements  so  unquestionably  supe- 
rior; and  I  believe  the  riddled  bodies  of  my 
poor  skirmishers  were  the  only  ones  left  on 
this  "neutral  ground"  that  day.  But  there  was 
a  very  pretty  line  of  dead  continually  growing 
in  our  rear,  and  doubtless  the  enemy  had  i.t 
his  back  a  similar  encouragement. 

The  configuration  of  the  ground  offered  us 
no  protection.  By  lying  flat  on  our  faces  be- 
tween the  guns  we  were  screened  from  view 
by  a  straggling  row  of  brambles,  which 
marked  the  course  of  an  obsolete  fence;  but 
the  enemy's  grape  was  sharper  than  his  3yes, 
and  it  was  poor  consolation  to  know  thai  hi; 
gunners  could  not  see  what  they  wTere  doing. 
so  long  as  they  did  it.  The  shock  of  our  own 
pieces  nearly  deafened  us,  but  in  the  brief  in- 
tervals we  could  hear  the  battle  roaring  and 
stammering  in  the  dark  reaches  of  the  forest 
to  the  right  and  left,  where  our  other  divi- 
sions were  dashing  themselves  again  and  ;:. 
into  the  smoking  jungle.  What  would  we 
not  have  given  to  join  them  in  their  brave, 
hopeless  task!     But  to  lie  inglorious  beneath 


34 

Showers    of    shrapnel    darting    di  from 

the  unassailable  sky — meekly  to  be  blown  out 
of  life  by  level  gusts  of  grape — to  clench  our 
teeth  and  shrink  helpless  before  big  shot  push- 
ing noisily  through  the  consenting  air — this 
was  horrible!  "Lie  down,  there!"  a  captain 
would  shout,  and  then  get  up  himself  to  see 
that  his  order  was  obeyed.  "Captain,  take 
cover,  sir!"  the  lieutenant-colonel  would  shriek, 
pacing  up  and  down  in  the  most  exposed  posi- 
tion that  he  could  find. 

O  those  cursed  guns — not  the  enemy's,  but 
our  own.  Had  it  not  been  for  them,  we  might 
have  died  like  men.  They  must  be  supported, 
forsooth,  the  feeble,  boasting  bullies!  It  was 
impossible  to  conceive  that  these  pieces  wei  e 
doing  the  enemy  as  excellent  a  mischief  as  his 
were  doing  us;  they  seemed  to  raise  their 
"cloud  by  day"  solely  to  direct  aright  the 
streaming  procession  of  Confederate  missiles. 
They  no  longer  inspired  confidence,  but  begot 
apprehension;  and  it  was  with  grim  satisfac- 
tion that  I  saw  the  carriage  of  one  and  an- 
other smashed  into  matchwood  by  a  whooping 
shot  and  bundled  out  of  the  line, 

III 

The  dense  forests  wholly  or  partly  in  which 
were  fought  so  many  battles  of  the  Civil  War. 
lay  upon  the  earth  in  each  autumn  a  thick  de 
posit  of  dead  leaves  and  stems,  the  decay  of 
which  forms  a  soil  of  surprising  depth  and 
richness.  In  dry  weather  the  upper  stratum 
is  as  inflammable  as  tinder.     A  fire  once  kin- 


I  >V   THE  CIVIL   WAT,  35 

died  in  it  will  spread  with  a  slow,  persistent 
advance  as  far  as  local  conditions  permit,  leav- 
ing a  bed  of  light  ashes  beneath  which  the 
less  combustible  accretions  of  previous  years 
will  smolder  until  extinguished  by  rains.  In 
many  of  the  engagements  of  the  war  the  fallen 
leaves  took  fire  and  roasted  the  fallen  men. 
At  Shiloh,  during  the  first  day's  fighting,  wide 
tracts  of  woodland  were  burned  over  in  this 
way  and  scores  of  wounded  who  might  have 
recovered  perished  in  slow  torture.  I  remem- 
ber a  deep  ravine  a  little  to  the  left  and  rear 
of  the  field  I  have  described,  in  which,  by 
some  mad  freak  of  heroic  incompetence,  a 
part  of  an  Illinois  regiment  had  been  sur- 
rounded, and  refusing  to  surrender  was  de- 
stroyed, as  it  very  well  deserved.  My  regi- 
ment having  at  last  been  relieved  at  the  gum* 
and  moved  over  to  the  heights  above  this  ra- 
vine for  no  obvious  purpose.  I  obtained  leave 
to  go  down  into  the  valley  of  death  and  gratify 
a  reprehensible  curiosity. 

Forbidding  enough  it  was  in  every  way.  The 
fire  had  swept  every  superficial  foot  of  it,  and 
at  every  step  I  sank  into  ashes  to  the  ankle. 
It  had  contained  a  thick  undergrowth  of  young 
saplings,  every  one  of  which  had  been  severed 
by  a  bullet,  the  foliage  of  the  prostrate  tops 
being  afterward  burnt  and  the  stumps  charred. 
Death  had  put  his  sickle  into  this  thicket  and 
fire  had  gleaned  the  field.  Along  a  line  which 
was  not  that  of  extreme  depression,  but  was 
at  every  point  significantly  equidistant  from 
the  heights  on  either  hand,  lay  the  bodies,  half 
buried    in   a*5hcs;    some   in   the   unlovely   loose- 


86  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

ness  •£  attitude  denoting  sudden  death  by  the 
bullet,  but  by  far  the  greater  number  in  pos- 
tures of  agony  that  told  of  the  tormenting 
flame.  Their  clothing  was  half  bftrnt  away — 
their  hair  and  beard  entirely;  the  rain  had 
come  too  late  to  save  their  nails.  Some  were 
swollen  to  double  girth;  others  shriveled  to 
manikins.  According  to  degree  of  exposure, 
their  faces  were  bloated  and  black  or  yellow 
and  shrunken.  The  contraction  of  muscles 
which  had  given  them  claws  for  hands  had 
cursed  each  countenance  with  a  hideous  grin. 
Faugh!  I  cannot  catalogue  the  charms  of  these 
gallant  gentlemen  who  had  got  what  they  en- 
listed for. 

IV 

It  was  now  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
and  raining.  For  fifteen  hours  we  had  been 
wet  to  the  skin.  Chilled,  sleepy,  hungry  and 
disappointed  —  profoundly  disgusted  with  the 
inglorious  part  to  which  they  had  been  con- 
demned— the  men  of  my  regiment  did  every- 
thing doggedly.  The  spirit  had  gone  quite 
out  of  them.  Blue  sheets  of  powder  smoke, 
drifting  amongst  the  trees,  settling  against  the 
hillsides  and  beaten  into  nothingness  by  the 
falling  rain,  filled  the  air  with  their  peculiar 
pungent  odor,  but  it  no  longer  stimulated.  For 
miles  on  either  hand  could  be  heard  the  hoarse 
murmur  of  the  battle,  breaking  out  nearby 
with  frightful  distinctness,  or  sinking  to  a  mur- 
mur in  the  distance;  and  the  one  sound  aroused 
no  more  attention  than  the  other. 

We  had  been  placed  again  in  rear  of  those 


OP  THE  CIVIL  WAR  37 

guns,  but  even  they  and  their  iron  antagonists 
seemed  to  have  tired  of  their  feud,  pounding 
away  at  one  another  with  amiable  infrequency. 
The  right  of  the  regiment  extended  a  little 
beyond  the  field.  On  the  prolongation  of  the 
line  in  that  direction  were  some  regiments  of 
another  division,  with  one  in  reserve.  A  third 
of  a  mile  back  lay  the  remnant  of  somebody  s 
brigade  looking  to  its  wounds.  The  line  of 
forest  bounding  this  end  of  the  field  stretched 
as  straight  as  a  wall  from  the  right  of  my 
regiment  to  Heaven  knows  what  regiment  of 
the  enemy.  There  suddenly  appeared,  march- 
ing down  along  this  wall,  not  more  than  two 
huidred  yards  in  our  front,  a  dozen  files  of 
gray-clad  men  with  rifles  on  the  right  shoulder. 
At  an  interval  of  fifty  yards  they  were  follov:ed 
by  perhaps  half  as  many  more;  and  in  fair 
supporting  distance  of  these  stalked  with  confi- 
dent mien  a  single  man!  There  seemed  to  me 
something  indescribably  ludicrous  in  the  ad- 
vance of  this  handful  of  men  upon  an  army, 
albeit  with  their  left  flank  protected  by  a  for- 
est. It  does  not  so  impress  me  now.  They 
were  the  exposed  flanks  of  three  lines  of  in- 
fantry, each  half  a  mile  in  length.  In  a  mo- 
ment our  gunners  had  grappled  with  the  near- 
est pieces,  swung  them  half  round,  and  were 
pouring  streams  of  canister  into  the  invaded 
wood.  .  The  infantry  rose  in  masses,  springing 
into  line.  Our  threatened  regiments  stood  like 
a  wall,  their  loaded  rifles  at  "ready,"  their 
bayonets  hanging  quietly  in  the  scabbards.  The 
right  wing  of  my  own  regiment  was  thrown 
slightly  backward  to  threaten  the  flank  of  the 


3S  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

assault.  The  battered  brigade  away  to  the 
rear  pulled  itself  together. 

Then  the  storm  burst.  A  great  gray  cloud 
seemed  to  spring  out  of  the  forest  into  the 
faces  of  the  waiting  battalions.  It  was  re- 
ceived with  a  crash  that  made  the  very  trees 
turn  up  their  leaves.  For  one  instant  the  as- 
sailants paused  above  their  dead,  then  strug- 
gled forwards,  their  bayonets  glittering  in  the 
eyes  that  shone  behind  the  smoke.  One  mo- 
ment, and  those  unmoved  men  in  blue  would 
be  impaled.  What  were  they  about?  Why 
did  they  not  fix  bayonets?  Were  they  stunned 
by  their  own  volley?  Their  inaction  was  mad- 
dening! Another  tremendous  crash! — the  rear 
rank  had  fired!  '  Humanity,  thank  Heaven!  is 
not  made  for  this,  and  the  shattered  gray  mass 
drew  back  a  score  of  paces,  opening  a  feeble 
fire.  Lead  had  scored  its  old-time  victory  over 
steel:  the  heroic  had  broken  its  great  heart 
against  the  commonplace.  There  are  those 
who  say  that  it  is  sometimes  otherwise. 

All  this  had  taken  but  a  minute  of  time,  and 
now  the  second  Confederate  line  swept  down 
and  poured  in  its  fire.  The  line  of  blue  stag- 
gered and  gave  way;  in  those  two  terrific  vol- 
leys it  seemed  to  have  quite  poured  out  its 
spirit.  To  this  deadly  work  our  reserve  regi- 
ment now  came  up  with  a  run.  It  was  sur- 
prising to  see  it  spitting  fire  with  never  a 
sound,  for  such  was  the  infernal  din  that  the 
ear  could  take  in  no  more.  This  fearful  scene 
was  enacted  within  fifty  paces  of  our  toes,  but 
we  were  rooted  to  the  ground  as  if  we  had 
grown   thorp.      But   now   our   commanding  offi- 


OF   THE   CIVIL   WAR  39 

cor  rode  from  behind  us  to  the  front,  waved 
his  hand  with  the  courteous  gesture  that  says 
apres  vans,  and  with  a  barely  audible  cheer 
we  sprang  into  the  fight.  Again  the  smoking 
front  of  gray  receded,  and  again,  as  the  ene- 
my's third  line  emerged  from  its  leafy  covert, 
it  pushed  forward  across  the  piles  of  dead 
and  wounded  to  threaten  with  protruded  steel. 
Never  was  seen  so  striking  a  proof  of  the  para- 
mount importance  of  numbers.  Within  an  area 
of  three  hundred  yards  by  fifty  there  struggled 
for  front  places  no  fewer  than  six  regiments; 
and  the  accession  of  each,  after  the  first  col- 
lision, had  it  not  been  immediately  counter- 
poised, would  have  turned  the  scale. 

As  matters  stood,  we  were  now  very  evenly 
matched,  and  how  long  we  might  have  held 
out  God  only  knows.  But  all  at  once  some- 
thing appeared  to  have  gone  wrong  with  the 
enemy's  left;  our  men  had  somewhere  pierced 
his  line.  A  moment  later  his  whole  front  gave 
way,  and  springing  forward  with  fixed  bayo- 
nets we  pushed  him  in  utter  confusion  back 
to  his  original  line.  Here,  among  the  tents 
from  which  Grant's  people  had  been  expelled 
the  day  before,  our  broken  and  disordered  regi- 
ments inextricably  intermingled,  and  drunken 
with  the  wine  of  triumph,  dashed  confidently 
against  a  pair  of  trim  battalions,  provoking  a 
tempest  of  hissing  lead  that  made  us  stagger 
under  its  very  weight.  The  sharp  onset  of 
another  against  our  flank  sent  us  whirling 
back  with  fire  at  our  heels  and  fresh  foes  in 
merciless  pursuit — who  in  their  turn  were 
broken  upon  the  front  of  the  invalided  brigade 


40  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

previously  mentioned,  which  had  moved  up 
from  the  rear  to  assist  in  this  lively  work. 

As  we  rallied  to  reform  behind  our  beloved 
guns  and  noted  the  ridiculous  brevity  of  our 
line — as  we  sank  from  sheer  fatigue,  and  tried 
to  moderate  the  terrific  thumping  of  our  hearts 
— as  we  caught  our  breath  to  ask  who  had 
seen  such-and-such  a  comrade,  and  laughed  hys- 
terically at  the  reply — there  swept  past  us  and 
over  us  into  the  open  field  a  long  regiment 
with  fixed  bayonets  and  rifles  on  the  right 
shoulder.  Another  followed,  and  another; 
two — three — four!  Heavens!  where  do  all 
these  men  come  from,  and  why  did  they  not 
come  before?  How  grandly  and  confidently 
they  go  sweeping  on  like  long  blue  waves  of 
ocean  chasing  one  another  to  the  cruel  rocks! 
Involuntarily  we  draw  in  our  weary  feet  be- 
neath us  as  we  sit,  ready  to  spring  up  and 
interpose  our  breasts  when  these  gallant  lines 
shall  come  back  to  us  across  the  terrible  field, 
and  sift  brokenly  through  among  the  trees  with 
spouting  fires  at  their  backs.  We  still  our 
breathing  to  catch  the  full  grandeur  of  the 
volleys  that  are  to  tear  them  to  shreds.  Minute 
after  minute  passes  and  the  sound  does  not 
come.  Then  for  the  first  time  we  note  that 
the  silence  of  the  whole  region  is  not  com- 
parative, but  absolute.  Have  wre  become  stone 
deaf?  See;  here  comes  a  stretcher-bearer,  and 
there  a  surgeon!     Good  heavens!    a   chaplain! 

The  battle  was  indeed  at  an  end. 


OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  41 


FOUR  DAYS  IN  DIXIE 

During  a  part  of  the  month  of  October,  1864, 
the  Federal  and  Confederate  armies  of  Sherman 
and  Hood  respectively,  having  performed  a 
surprising  and  resultless  series  of  marches  and 
countermarches  since  the  fall  of  Atlanta,  con- 
fronted each  other  along  the  separating  li/ne  of 
the  Coosa  River  in  the  vicinity  of  Gaylesville, 
ama.  Here  for  several  days  they  remained 
at  rest — at  least  most  of  the  infantry  and  artil- 
lery did;  what  the  cavalry  was  doing  nobody 
but  itself  ever  knew  or  greatly  cared.  It  was 
an  interregnum  of  expectancy  between  two 
regimes  of  activity. 

I  was  on  the  staff  of  Colonel  McConnell,  who 
commanded  an  infantry  brigade  in  the  absence 
of  it;  regular  commander.  McConnell  was  a 
good  man,  but  he  did  not  keep  a  very  tight  rein 
upon  the  half  dozen  restless  and  reckless  young 
fellows  who  (for  his  sins)  constituted  his  "mili- 
tary family."  In  most  matters  we  followed  the 
trend  of  our  desires,  which  commonly  ran  in 
the  direction  of  adventure — it  did  not  greatly 
matter  what  kind.  In  pursuance  of  this  policy 
of  escapades,  one  bright  Sunday  morning  Lieu- 
tenant Cobb,  an  aide-de-camp,  and  I  mounted 
and  set  out  to  "seek  our  fortunes,"  as  the  story 
books  have  it.  Striking  into  a  road  of  which 
we  knew  nothing  except  that  it  led  toward  the 
river,  we  followed  it  for  a  mile  or  such  a  mat- 
ter, when  we  found  our  advance  interrupted 
by  a  considerable  creek,  which  we  must  ford 
or  eo  bnck.     We  con Tiilted  a  moment  and  then 


\2  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

rode  at  it  as  hard  as  we  could,  possibly  in  the 
belief  that  a  high  momentum  would  act  as  it 
does  in  the  instance  of  a  skater  passing  over 
thin  ice.  Cobb  was  fortunate  enough  to  get 
across  comparatively  dry,  but  his  hapless  com- 
panion was  utterly  submerged.  The  disaster 
was  all  the  greater  from  my  having  on  a  re- 
splendent new  uniform,  of  which  I  had  been 
pardonably  vain.  Ah,  what  a  gorgeous  new 
uniform  it  never  was  again! 

A  half-hour  devoted  to  wringing  my  clothing 
and  dry-charging  my  revolver,  and  we  were 
away.  A  brisk  canter  of  a  half-hour  under  the 
arches  of  the  trees  brought  us  to  the  river, 
where  it  was  our  ill  luck  to  find  a  boat  and 
three  soldiers  of  our  brigade.  These  men  had 
been  for  several  hours  concealed  in  the  brush 
patiently  watching  the  opposite  bank  in  the 
amiable  hope  of  getting  a  shot  at  some  unwary 
Confederate,  but  had  seen  none.  For  a  great 
distance  up  and  down  the  stream  on  the  other 
side,  and  for  at  least  a  mile  back  from  it,  ex- 
tended cornfields.  Beyond  the  cornfields,  on 
slightly  higher  ground,  was  a  thin  forest,  with 
breaks  here  and  there  in  its  continuity,  denot- 
ing plantations,  probably.  No  houses  were  in 
sight,  and  no  camps.  We  knew  that  it  was  the 
enemy's  ground,  but  whether  his  forces  were 
disposed  along  the  slightly  higher  country 
bordering  the  bottom  lands,  or  at  strategic 
points  miles  back,  as  ours  were,  we  knew  no 
more  than  the  least  curious  private  in  our 
army.  In  any  case  the  river  line  would  nat- 
urally be  picketed  or  patrolled.  But  the  charm 
of  the  unknown  was  upon  us:   the  mysterious 


OP  THE  CIVIL   WAR  43 

exerted  its  old-time  fascination,  beckoning  to 
us  from  that  silent  shore  so  peaceful  and 
dreamy  in  the  beauty  of  the  quiet  Sunday 
morning.  The  temptation  was  strong  and  we 
fell.  The  soldiers  were  as  eager  for  the  hazard 
as  we,  and  readily  volunteered  for  the  mad- 
men's enterprise.  Concealing  our  horses  in  a 
cane-brake,  we  unmoored  the  boat  and  rowed 
across  unmolested. 

Arrived  at  a  kind  of  "landing"  on  the  other 
side,  our  first  care  was  so  to  secure  the  boat 
under  the  bank  as  to  favor  a  hasty  re-embark  in". 
in  case  we  should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  incur 
the  natural  consequence  of  our  act;  then,  follow- 
ing an  old  road  through  the  ranks  of  standing 
corn,  we  moved  in  force  upon  the  Confederate 
position,  five  strong,  with  an  armament  ol 
three  Springfield  rifles  and  two  Colt's  revolvers. 
We  had  not  the  further  advantage  of  music  an  i 
banners.  One  thing  favored  the  expedition, 
giving  it  an  apparent  assurance  of  success:  it 
was  well  officered — an  officer  to  each  man  and 
a  half. 

After  marching  about  a  mile  we  came  into 
a  neck  of  woods  and  crossed  an  intersecting 
road  which  showed  no  wheel-tracks,  but  was 
rich  in  hoof-prints.  We  observed  them  and 
kept  right  on  about  our  business,  whatever  that 
may  have  been.  A  few  hundred  yards  farther 
brought  us  to  a  plantation  bordering  our  road 
upon  the  right.  The  fields,  as  was  the  South- 
ern fashion  at  that  period  of  the  war.  were  un- 
cultivated and  overgrown  with  brambles.  A 
large  white  house  stood  at  some  little  distance 
from    the    road;    we    saw    women   and   children 


4  4  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

and  a  few  Negroes  there.  On  our  left  ran  the 
thin  forest,  pervious  to  cavalry.  Directly  ahead 
an  ascent  in  the  road  formed  a  crest  beyond 
which  we  could  see  nothing. 

On  this  crest  suddenly  appeared  two  horse- 
men in  gray,  sharply  outlined  against  the  sky 
— men  and  animals  looking  gigantic.  At  the 
same  instant  a  jingling  and  tramping  v.  ere 
audible  behind  us,  and  turning  in  that  direction 
I  saw  a  score  of  mounted  men  moving  forward 
at  a  trot.  In  the  meantime  the  giants  on  the 
crest  had  multiplied  surprisingly.  Our  invasion 
of  the  Gulf  States  had  apparently  failed. 

There  was  lively  work  in  the  next  few  sec- 
onds. The  shots  were  thick  and  fast — and  un- 
commonly loud;  none,  I  think,  from  our  side. 
Cobb  was  on  the  extreme  left  of  our  advance. 
I  on  the  right — about  two  paces  apart.  He  in- 
stantly dived  into  the  wood.  The  three  men 
and  I  climbed  across  the  fence  somehow  and 
struck  out  across  the  field — actuated,  doubtless. 
by  an  intelligent  forethought:  men  on  horse- 
back could  not  immediately  follow.  PassinT 
near  the  house,  now  swarming  like  a  hive  o*' 
bees,  we  made  for  a  swamp  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  away,  where  I  concealed  myself  in  a 
jungle,  the  others  continuing— as  a  defeated 
commander  would  put  it — to  fall  back.  In  my 
cover,  where  I  lay  panting  like  a  hare,  I  could 
hear  a  deal  of  shouting  and  hard  riding  and 
an  occasional  shot.  I  heard  some  one  calling 
dogs,  and  the  thought  of  bloodhounds  added 
its  fine  suggestiveness  to  the  other  farcies  ap- 
propriate to  the  occasion. 

Finding  myself  unpursued  after  the  lap- 


OF   THH   CIVIL,  WAR  45 

what  seemed  an  hour,  but  was  probably  a  few 
minutes,  1  cautiously  sought  a  place  where, 
still  concealed,  I  could  obtain  a  view  of  the  field 
of  glory.  The  only  enemy  in  sight  was  a  group 
of  horsemen  on  a  hill  a  quarter  ot  a  mile  away. 
Toward  this  group  a  woman  was  running,  fol- 
lowed by  the  eyes  of  everybody  about  the  house. 
I  thought  she  had  discovered  my  hiding-place 
and  was  going  to  "give  me  away."  Taking  to 
I  ly  hands  and  knees  I  crept  as  rapidly  as  pos- 
sible among  the  clumps  of  brambles  directly 
back  toward  the  point  in  the  road  where  we 
had  met  the  enemy  and  failed  to  make  him 
oars.  There  I  dragged  myself  into  a  patch  of 
briars  within  ten  feet  of  the  road,  where  I  lay 
undiscovered  during  the  remainder  of  the  day, 
listening  to  a  variety  of  disparaging  remarks 
upon  Yankee  valor  and  to  dispiriting  declara- 
tions of  intention  conditional  on  my  capture, 
as  members  of  the  Opposition  passed  and  re- 
passed and  paused  in  the  road  to  discuss  the 
morning's  events.  In  this  way  I  learned  that 
the  three  privates  had  been  headed  off  and 
caught  within  ten  minutes.  Their  destination 
would  naturally  be  Andersonville;  what  fur- 
ther became  of  them  God  knows.  Their  captors 
passed  the  day  making  a  careful  canvass  of  the 
swamp  for  me. 

When  night  had  fallen  I  cautiously  left  my 
place  of  concealment,  dodged  across  the  road 
into  the  woods  and  made  for  the  river  through 
the  mile  of  corn.  Such  corn!  It  towered  above 
me  like  a  forest,  shutting  out  all  the  starlight 
except  what  came  from  directly  overhead 
Many  of  the  ears  were  a  yard  out  of  reach. 


•K;  ICONOCLASTIC  MEM!  »i; 

One  who  has  never  seen  an  Alabama  river-bot- 
tom cornfield  has  not  exhausted  nature's  sur- 
prises; nor  will  he  know  what  solitude  is  until 
he  explores  one  in  a  moonless  night. 

I  came  at  last  to  the  river  bank  with  its 
fringe  of  trees  and  willows  and  canes.  My 
intention  was  to  swim  across,  but  the  current 
was  swift,  the  water  forbiddingly  dark  and 
cold.  A  mist  obscured  the  other  bank.  I  could 
not.  indeed,  see  the  water  more  than  a  few 
yards  out.  It  was  a  hazardous  and  horrible 
undertaking,  and  I  gave  it  up,  following  cau- 
tiously along  the  bank  in  search  of  the  spot 
where  we  had  moored  the  boat.  True,  it  was 
hardly  likely  that  the  landing  was  now  un- 
guarded, or,  if  so,  that  the  boat  was  still  there. 
Cobb  had  undoubtedly  made  for  it,  having  an 
even  more  urgent  need  than  I;  but  hope  springs 
eternal  in  the  human  breast,  and  there  was  a 
chance  that  he  had  been  killed  before  reaching 
it.  I  came  at  last  into  the  road  that  we  had 
taken  and  consumed  half  the  night  in  cautiously 
approaching  the  landing,  pistol  in  hand  and 
heart  in  mouth.  The  boat  was  gone!  I  con- 
tinued my  journey  along  the  stream — in  search 
of  another. 

My  clothing  was  still  damp  from  my  morn- 
ing bath,  my  teeth  rattled  with  cold,  but  I  kept 
on  along  the  stream  until  I  reached  the  limit 
of  the  cornfields  and  entered  a  dense  wood. 
Through  this  I  groped  my  way,  inch  by  inch, 
when,  suddenly  emerging  from  a  thicket  into 
a  space  slightly  more  open,  I  came  upon  a 
smouldering  camp-fire  surrounded  by  prostrate 
figures  of  men,  upon  one  of  whom  I  had  almost 


THE  CtvtL  mrr,  r: 

trodden.  A  sentinel,  who  ought  to  have  been 
shot,  sat  by  the  embers,  his  carbine  across  his 
lap.  his  chin  upon  his  breast.  Just,  beyond  was 
B  grout  of  unsaddled  horses.  The  men  were 
p;  the  sentinel  was  asleep;  the  horses 
were  asleep.  There  was  something  indescrib- 
ably uncanny  about  it  all.  For  a  moment  I 
believed  them  all  lifeless,  and  O'Hara's  familiar 
line,  "The  bivouac  of  the  dead,"  quoted  itself 
in  my  consciousness.  The  emotion  that  I  felt 
was  that  inspired  by  a  sense  of  the  supernat- 
ural; of  the  actual  and  imminent  peril  of  my 
position  I  had  no  thought.  When  at  last  it 
occurred  to  me  I  felt  it  as  a  welcome  relief, 
and  stepping  silently  back  into  the  shadow  re- 
traced my  course  without  having  awakened  a 
soul.  The  vividness  with  which  I  can  now 
recall  that  scene  is  to  me  one  of  the  marvels 
of  memory. 

Getting  my  bearings  again  with  some  diffi- 
culty. I  now  made  a  wide  detour  to  the  left, 
in  the  hope  of  passing  around  this  outpost  and 
striking  the  river  beyond.  In  this  mad  attempt 
I  ran  upon  a  more  vigilant  sentinel,  posted  in 
the  heart  of  a  thicket,  who  fired  at  me  without 
challenging.  To  a  soldier  an  unexpected  shot 
ringing  out  at  dead  of  night  is  fraught  with 
an  awful  significance.  In  my  circumstances — 
cut  off  from  my  comrades,  groping  about  an 
unknown  country,  surrounded  by  invisible 
perils  which  such  a  signal  would  call  into  eager 
activity — the  flash  and  shock  of  that  firearm 
were  unspeakably  dreadful!  In  any  case  I 
should  and  ought  to  have  fled,  and  did  so:  but 
how  much  or  little  of  conscious  prudence  there 


48  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMO!: 

was  in  the  prompting  I  do  not  care  to  discover 
by  analysis  of  memory.  I  went  back  into  the 
corn,  found  the  river,  followed  it  back  a  long 
way  and  mounted  into  the  fork  of  a  low  tree. 
There  I  perched  until  the  dawn,  a  most  uncom- 
fortable bird. 

In  the  gray  light  of  the  morning  I  discov- 
ered that  I  was  opposite  an  island  of  consider- 
able length,  separated  from  the  mainland  by  a 
narrow  and  shallow  channel,  which  I  promptly 
waded.  The  island  was  low  and  flat,  covered 
with  an  almost  impenetrable  cane-brake  inter- 
laced with  vines.  Working  my  way  through 
these  to  the  other  side,  I  obtained  another  look 
at  God's  country — Shermany,  so  to  speak.  There 
were  no  visible  inhabitants.  The  forest  and 
the  water  met.  This  did  not  deter  me.  For 
the  chill  of  the  water  I  had  no  further  care, 
and  laying  off  my  boots  and  outer  clothing  I 
prepared  to  swim.  A  strange  thing  now  oc- 
curred— more  accurately,  a  familiar  thing  oc- 
curred at  a  strange  moment.  A  black  cloud 
seemed  to  pass  before  my  eyes — the  water,  the 
trees,  the  sky.  all  vanished  in  a  profound  dark- 
ness. I  heard  the  roaring  of  a  great  cataract, 
felt  the  earth  sinking  from  beneath  my  feet. 
Then  I  heard  and  felt  no  more. 

At  the  battle  of  Kennesaw  Mountain  in  the 
previous  June  I  had  been  badly  wounded  in  the 
head,  and  for  three  months  was  incapacitated 
for  service.  In  truth,  I  had  done  no  actual 
duty  since,  being  then,  as  for  many  years  after- 
ward, subject  to  fits  of  fainting,  sometimes 
without  assignable  immediate  cause,  but  m< 
when   suffering   from   exposure,    excitement   or 


OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  49 

excessive  fatigue.  This  combination  of  them 
all  had  broken  me  down — most  opportunely,  it 
would  seem. 

When  I  regained  my  consciousness  the  sun 
was  high.  I  was  still  giddy  and  half  blind. 
To  have  taken  to  the  water  would  have  been 
madness;  I  must  have  a  raft.  Exploring  my 
island,  I  found  a  pen  of  slender  logs:  an  old 
structure  without  roof  or  rafters,  built  for 
what  purpose  I  do  not  know.  Several  of  these 
logs  I  managed  with  patient  toil  to  detach  and 
convey  to  the  water,  where  I  floated  them,  lash- 
ing them  together  with  vines.  Just  before  sun- 
set my  raft  was  complete  and  freighted  with 
my  outer  clothing,  boots  and  pistol.  Having 
shipped  the  last  article,  I  returned  into  the 
brake,  seeking  something  from  which  to  im- 
provise a  paddle.  While  peering  about  I  heard 
a  sharp  metallic  click — the  cocking  of  a  rifle! 
I  was  a  prisoner. 

The  history  of  this  great  disaster  to  the 
Union  arms  is  brief  and  simple.  A  Confederate 
"home  guard,"  hearing  something  going  on 
upon  the  island,  rode  across,  concealed  his  horse 
and  still-hunted  me.  And,  reader,  when  you 
are  "held  up"  in  the  same  way  may  it  be  by 
as  fine  a  fellow.  He  not  only  spared  my  life, 
but  even  overlooked  a  feeble  and  ungrateful 
after-attempt  upon  his  own  (the  particulars  of 
which  I  shall  not  relate),  merely  exacting  my 
word  of  honor  that  I  would  not  again  try  to 
escape  while  in  his  custody.  Escape!  I  could 
not  have  escaped  a  new-born  babe. 

At  my  captor's  house  that  evening  there  was 
a  reception,  attended  by  the  elite  of  the  whole 


50  tC  MEMOB 

vicinity.  A  Yankee  officer  in  full  fig — minus 
only  the  boots,  which  could  not  be  got  on  to 
his  swollen  feet — was  something  worth  seeing, 
and  those  who  came  to  scoff  remained  to  stare. 
What  most  entertained  them.  I  think,  was  my 
eating — an  entertainment  that  was  prolonged 
to  a  late  hour.  They  were  a  trifle  disappointed 
by  the  absence  of  horns,  hoof  and  tail,  but  bore 
their  chagrin  with  good-natured  fortitude. 
Among  my  visitors  was  a  charming  young 
woman  from  the  plantation  where  we  had  met 
the  foe  the  day  before — the  same  lady  whom  I 
had  suspected  of  an  intention  to  reveal  my 
hiding-place.  She  had  had  no  such  design;  she 
had  run  over  to  the  group  of  horsemen  to  learn 
if  her  father  had  been  hurt — by  whom,  I  should 
like  to  know.  Xo  restraint  was  put  upon  me; 
my  captor  even  left  me  with  the  women  and 
children  and  went  off  for  instructions  as  to 
what  disposition  he  should  make  of  me.  Alto- 
gether the  reception  was  "a  pronounced  suc- 
cess." though  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  the 
guest  of  the  evening  had  the  incivility  to  fall 
dead  asleep  in  the  midst  of  the  festivities,  and 
was  put  to  bed  by  sympathetic  and,  he  has 
reason  to  believe,  fair  hands. 

The  next  morning  I  was  started  off  to  the 
rear  in  custody  of  two  mounted  men,  heavily 
armed.  They  had  another  prisoner,  picked  up 
in  some  raid  beyond  the  river.  He  was  a  most 
offensive  brute — a  foreigner  of  some  mongrel 
sort,  with  just  sufficient  command  of  our 
tongue  to  show  that  he  could  not  control  his 
own.  We  traveled  all  day.  meeting  occasional 
small  bodies  of  cavalrymen,  by  whom,  with  one 


OF  THE  CIVIL.  WAR  51 

exception— a  Texan  officer — I  was  civilly 
treated.  My  guards  said,  however,  that  if  we 
should  chance  to  meet  Jeff  Gatewood  he  would 
probably  take  me  from  them  and  hang  me  to 
the  nearest  tree;  and  once  or  twice,  hearing 
horsemen  approach,  they  directed  me  to  stand 
aside,  concealed  in  the  brush,  one  of  them  re- 
maining near  by  to  keep  an  eye  on  me,  the 
other  going  forward  with  my  fellow-prisoner, 
for  whose  neck  they  seemed  to  have  less  ten- 
derness, and  whom  I  heartily  wished  well 
hanged. 

Jeff  Gatewood  was  a  "guerrilla"  chief  of  local 
notoriety,  who  was  a  greater  terror  to  his 
friends  than  to  his  other  foes.  My  guards  re- 
lated almost  incredible  tales  of  his  cruelties 
and  infamies.  By  their  account  it  was  into 
his  camp  that  I  had  blundered  on  Sunday  night. 

We  put  up  for  the  night  at  a"  farmhouse, 
having  gone  not  more  than  fifteen  miles,  owing 
to  the  condition  of  my  feet.  Here  we  got  a  bite 
of  supper  and  wrere  permitted  to  lie  before  the 
fire.  My  fellow-prisoner  took  off  his  boots 
and  was  soon  sound  asleep.  I  took  off  nothing 
and,  despite  exhaustion,  remained  equally 
sound  awake.  One  of  the  guards  also  removed 
his  footgear  and  outeY  clothing,  placed  his 
weapons  under  his  neck  and  slept  the  sleep  of 
innocence;  the  other  sat  in  the  chimney  cor- 
ner on  watch.  The  house  was  a  double  log 
cabin,  with  an*  open  space  between  the  two 
parts,  roofed  over — a  common  type  of  habitation 
in  that  region.  The  room  we  were  in  had  its 
entrance  in  this  open  space,  the  fireplace  oppo- 
site, at  the  end.     Beside  the  door  was  a  bed, 


52  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

occupied  by  the  old  man  of  the  house  and  his 
wife.  It  was  partly  curtained  off  from  the 
room. 

In  an  hour  or  two  the  chap  on  watch  began 
to  yawn,  then  to  nod.  Pretty  soon  he  stretched 
himself  on  the  floor,  facing  us,  pistol  in  hand. 
For  a  while  he  supported  himself  on  his  elbow, 
then  laid  his  head  on  his  arm,  blinking  like  an 
owl.  I  performed  an  occasional  snore,  watch- 
ing him  narrowly  between  my  eyelashes  from 
the  shadow  of  my  arm.  The  inevitable  occurred 
— he  slept  audibly. 

A  half-hour  later  I  rose  quietly  to  my  feet, 
particularly  careful  not  to  disturb  the  black- 
guard at  my  side,  and  moved  as  silently  as 
possible.  Despite  my  care  the  latch  clicked. 
The  old  lady  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed  and  stared 
at  me.  She  was  too  late.  I  .sprang  through 
the  door  and  struck  out  for  the  nearest  point 
of  woods,  in  a  direction  previously  selected, 
vaulting  fences  like  an  accomplished  gymnast 
and  followed  by  a  multitude  of  dogs.  It  is  said 
that  the  State  of  Alabama  has  more  dogs  than 
school-children,  and  that  they  cost  more  for 
their  upkeep.  The  estimate  of  cost  is  probably 
too  high. 

Looking  backward  as  I  ran,  I  saw  and  heard 
the  place  in  a  turmoil  and  uproar;  and  to  my 
joy  the  old  man,  evidently  oblivious  to  the 
facts  of  the  situation,  was  lifting  up  his  voice 
and  calling  his  dogs.  They  were  good  dogs: 
they  went  back;  otherwise  the  malicious  old 
rascal  would  have  had  my  skeleton.  Again  the 
traditional  bloodhound  did  not  materialize. 
Other  pursuit  there  was  no  reason  10  rear;  my 


OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  53 

foreign  gentleman  would  occupy  the  attention 
of  one  of  the  soldiers,  and  in  the  darkness  of 
the  forest  I  could  easily  elude  the  other,  or, 
if  need  be,  get  him  at  a  disadvantage.  In  point 
of  fact  there  was  no  pursuit. 

I  now  took  my  course  by  the  north  star 
(which  I  can  never  sufficiently  bless),  avoiding 
all  roads  and  open  places  about  houses,  labor- 
iously boring  my  way  through  forests  driving 
myself  like  a  wedge  into  brush  and  bramble, 
swimming  every  stream  I  came  to  (some  of 
them  more  than  once,  probably),  and  pulling 
myself  out  of  the  water  by  boughs  and  briars 
— whatever  could  be  grasped.  Let  any  one  try 
to  go  a  little  way  across  even  the  most  familiar 
country  on  a  moonless  night,  and  he  will  have 
an  experience  to  remember.  By  dawn  I  had 
probably  not  made  three  miles.  My  clothing 
and  skin  were  alike  in  rags. 

During  the  day  I  was  compelled  to  make  wide 
detours  to  avoid  even  the  fields,  unless  they 
were  of  corn;  but  in  other  respects  the  goins: 
was  distinctly  better.  A  light  breakfast  of  raw 
sweet  potatoes  and  persimmons  cheered  the 
inner  man;  a  good  part  of  the  outer  was  deco 
rating  the  several  thorns,  boughs  and  sharp 
rocks  along  my  sylvan  wake. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  found  the  river,  at 
what  point  it  was  impossible  to  say.  After  a 
half-hour's  rest,  concluding  with  a  ferment 
prayer  that  I  might  go  to  the  bottom,  I  swam 
across.  Creeping  up  the  bank  and  holding  tp^ 
course  still  northward  through  a  dem-e  ur-r1 
growth.  I  suddenly  reeled  into  a  dusty  h*«^- 
way  and  saw  a  more  heavenly  vision  than  ever 


54  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

the  eyes  of  a  dying  saint  were  blessed  withal 
— two  patriots  in  blue  carrying  a  stolen  pig 
slung  upon  a  pole! 

Late  that  evening  Colonel  McConnell  and 
his  staff  were  chatting  by  a  camp-fire  in  front 
of  his  headquarters.  They  were  in  a  pleasant 
humor:  someone  had  just  finished  a  funny 
story  about  a  man  cut  in  two  by  a  cannon-shot. 
Suddenly  something  staggered  in  among  them 
from  the  outer  darkness  and  fell  into  the  fire. 
Somebody  dragged  it  out  by  what  seemed  to 
be  a  leg.  They  turned  the  animal  on  its  back 
and  examined  it — they  were  no  cowards. 

•  What  is  it.  Cobb"  said  the  chief,  who 
had   not  taken   the  trouble  to  rise. 

"1  don't  know,  Colonel,  but  thank  God  it 
is    .lead!" 

It   was   not. 


OF   THE   CIVIL    WAR 


WHAT  OCCURRED  AT  FRANKLIN 

For  several  days,  in  snow  and  rain,  General 
Schofield's  little  army  had  crouched  in  its 
iy  constructed  defenses  at  Columbia,  Ten- 
it  had  retreated  in  hot  haste  from 
Pulaski,  thirty  miles  to  the  south,  arriving 
just  in  time  to  foil  Hood,  who,  marching  from 
Florence,  Alabama,  by  another  road,  with  a 
of  more  than  double  our  strength,  had 
hoped  to  intercept  us.  Had  he  succeeded,  he 
would  indubitably  have  bagged  the  whole 
bunch  of  us.  As  it  was,  he  simply  took  posi- 
tion in  front  of  us  and  gave  us  plenty  of 
employment,  but  did  not  attack;  he  knew  a 
trick  worth  two  of  that. 

Duck  River  was  directly  in  our  rear;  I  sup- 
pose both  our  flanks  rested  on  it.  The  town 
was  between  them.  One  night — that  of  No- 
vember 27,  1864 — we  pulled  up  stakes  and 
crossed  to  the  north  bank  to  continue  our  re- 
treat to  Nashville,  where  Thomas  and  safety 
such  safety  as  is  known  in  war.  It  was 
high  time,  too,  for  before  noon  of  the  next  day 
Forrest's  cavalry  forded  the  river  a  few  miles 
above  us  and  began  pushing  back  our  own 
horse  toward  Spring  Hill,  ten  miles  in  our 
rear,  on  our  only  road.  Why  our  infantry  was 
not  immediately  put  in  motion  toward  the 
threatened  point,  so  vital  to  our  safety.  General 
Schofield  could  have  told  better  than  I.  How- 
beit,  we  lay  there  inactive  all  day. 

The  next  morning — a  bright  and  beautiful 
one — the    brigade   of    Colonel    P.    Sidney    Post 


56  ICONOCLASTIC  MEMORIES 

was  thrown  out,  up  the  river  four  or  five  miles, 
to  see  what  it  could  see.  What  it  saw  was 
Hood's  head-of-column  coming  over  on  a  pon- 
toon bridge,  and  a  right  pretty  spectacle  it 
would  have  been  to  one  whom  it  did  not  con- 
cern.    It  concerned  us  rather  keenly. 

As  a  member  of  Colonel  Post's  staff,  I  was 
naturally  favored  with  a  good  view  of  the 
performance.  We  formed  in  line  of  battle  at 
a  distance  of  perhaps  a  half-mile  from  the 
bridge-head,  but  that  unending  column  of  gray 
and  steel  gave  us  no  more  attention  than  if  we 
had  been  a  crowd  of  farmer-folk.  Why  should 
it?  It  had  only  to  face  to  the  left  to  be  itself 
a  line  of  battle.  Meantime  it  had  more  urgent 
business  on  hand  than  brushing  away  a  small 
brigade  whose  only  offense  was  curiosity;  it 
was  making  for  Spring  Hill  with  all  its  legs 
and  wheels.  Hour  after  hour  we  watched  that 
unceasing  flow  of  infantry  and  artillery  toward 
the  rear  of  our  army.  It  was  an  unnerving 
spectacle,  yet  we  never  for  a  moment  doubted 
that,  acting  on  the  intelligence  supplied  by  our 
succession  of  couriers,  our  entire  force  was 
moving  rapidly  to  the  point  of  contact.  The 
battle  of  Spring  Hill  was  obviously  decreed. 
Obviously,  too,  our  brigade  of  observation 
would  be  among  the  last  to  have  a  hand  in  it. 
The  thought  annoyed  us,  made  us  restless  and 
resentful.  Our  mounted  men  rode  forward  and 
back  behind  the  line,  nervous  and  distressed; 
the  men  fn  the  ranks  sought  relief  in  frequent 
changes  of  posture,  in  shifting  their  weight 
f"om  one  le^  to  the  other,  in  needless  inspec- 
tion   of   their   weapons    and    in    that    unfailing 


OF  the;  CIVIL  WAR  57 

resource  of  the  discontented  soldier,  audible 
damning  of  those  in  the  saddles  of  authority. 
But  never  for  more  than  a  moment  at  a  time 
did  anyone  remove  his  eyes  from  that  fasci- 
nating and  portentous  pageant. 

Toward  evening  we  were  recalled,  to  learn 
that  of  our  five  divisions  of  infantry,  with 
their  batteries,  numbering  twenty-three  thou- 
sand men,  only  one — Stanley's,  four  thousand 
weak — had  been  sent  to  Spring  Hill  to  meet 
that  formidable  movement  of  Hood's  three 
veteran  corps!  Why  Stanley  was  not  imme- 
diately effaced  is  still  a  matter  of  controversy. 
Hood,  who  was  early  on  the  ground,  declared 
that  he  gave  the  needful  orders  and  tried 
vainly  to  enforce  them;  Cheatham,  in  command 
tf  his  leading  corps,  declared  that  he  did  not. 
Doubtless  the  dispute  is  still  being  carried  on 
between  these  chieftains  from  their  beds  of 
asphodel  and  moly  in  Elysium.  So  much  is 
certain:  Stanley  drove  away  Forrest  and  suc- 
cessfully held  the  junction  of  the  roads  against 
Cleburne's  division,  the  only  infantry  that  at- 
tacked him. 

That  night  the  entire  Confederate  army  lay 
within  a  half  mile  of  our  road,  while  we  all 
sneaked  by,  infantry,  artillery,  and  trains.  The 
enemy's  camp-fires  shone  redly — miles  of  them 
— seeming  only  a  stone's  throw  from  our 
hurrying  column.  Hi's  men  were  plainly  visible 
about  them,  cooking  their  suppers — a  sight  so 
iacredible  that  many  of  our  own.  thinking 
them  friends,  strayed  over  to  them  and  did 
not  return.  At  intervals  of  a  few  hundred 
yards  we  passed  dim  figures  on  horseback  by 


;he  roadside,  enjoining  silence.  Needless  pre- 
caution; we  could  not  have  spoken  if  we  had 
rried,  for  our  hearts  were  in  our  throats.  But 
looIs  are  God's  peculiar  care,  and  one  of  his 
protective  methods  is  the  stupidity  of  other 
fools.  By  daybreak  our  last  man  and  last  wagon 
had  passed  the  fateful  spot  unchallenged,  and 
our  first  were  entering  Franklin,  ten  miles 
away.  Despite  spirited  cavalry  attacks  on 
trains  and  rear-guard,  all  were  in  Franklin  by 
noon  and  such  of  the  men  as  could  be  kept 
awake  were  throwing  up  a  slight  line  of  de- 
fense, inclosing   the  town. 

Franklin  lies — or  at  that  time  did  lie;  I 
know  not  what  exploration  might  now  dis- 
close— on  the  south  bank  of  a  small  river,  the 
Harpeth  by  name.  For  two  miles  southward 
was  a  nearly  flat,  open  plain,  extending  to  a 
range  of  low  hills  through  which  passed  the 
turnpike  by  which  we  had  come.  From  some 
Muffs  on  the  precipitous  north  bank  of  the 
river  was  a  commanding  overlook  of  all  this 
open  ground,  which,  although  more  than  a  mile 
away,  seemed  almost  at  one's  feet.  On  this 
elevated  ground  the  wagon-train  had  been 
parked  and  General  Schofield  had  stationed 
himself — the  former  for  security,  the  latter  for 
outlook.  Both  were  guarded  by  General  Wood's 
infantry  division,  of  which  my  brigade  was  a 
part.  "We  are  in  beautiful  luck,"  said  a  mem- 
ber of  the  division  staff.  With  some  prevision 
of  what  was  to  come  and  a  lively  recollection 
of  the  nervous  strain  of  helpless  observation, 
I  did  not  think  it  luck.    In  the  activity  of  battle 


OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  59 

one  does  not  feel  one's  hair  going  gray  with 
vicissitudes  of  emotion. 

For  some  reason  to  the  writer  unknown 
General  Schofield  had  brought  along  with  him 
General  D.  S.  Stanley,  who  commanded  two 
of  his  divisions — ours  and  another,  which  was 
not  "in  luck."  In  the  ensuing  battle,  when 
this  excellent  officer  could  stand  the  strain  no 
longer,  he  bolted  across  the  bridge  like  a  shot 
and  found  relief  in  the  hell  below,  where  he 
was  promptly  tumbled  out  of  the  saddle  by  a 
bullet. 

Our  line,  with  its  reserve  brigades,  was 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  long,  both  flanks  on 
the  river,  above  and  below  the  town — a  mere 
bridge-head.  It  did  not  look  a  very  formid- 
able obstacle  to  the  march  of  an  army  of  mare 
than  forty  thousand  men.  In  a  more  tranquil 
temper  than  his  failure  at  Spring  Kill  had 
put  him  into  Hood  would  probably  have  passed 
around  our  left  and  turned  us  out  with  ease — 
which  would  justly  have  entitled  him  to  thn 
Humane  Society's  great  gold  medal.  Apparent- 
ly that  was  not  his  day  for  saving  life. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  our  field 
glasses  picked  up  the  Confederate  head-of- 
column  emerging  from  the  range  of  hills  pre- 
viously mentioned,  where  it  is  cut  by  the  Co 
lumbia  road.  But — ominous  circumstance! — it 
did  not  come  on.  It  turned  to  its  left,  at  a  right 
angle,  moving  along  the  base  of  the  hills, 
parallel  to  our  line.  Other  heads-of-column 
came  through  other  gaps  and  over  the  crests 
farther  along.  Impudently  deploying  on  the 
level  ground  with  a  spectacular  display  of  flags 


60  ICONOCLASTIC   MEMORIES 

and  glitter  of  arms.  I  do  not  remember  that 
they  were  molested,  even  by  the  guns  of  Gen- 
eral Wagner,  who  had  been  foolishly  posted 
with  two  small  brigades  across  the  turnpike,  a 
half-mile  in  our  front,  where  he  was  needless 
for  apprisal  and  powerless  for  resistance.  My 
recollection  is  that  our  fellows  down  there  in 
their  shallow  trenches  noted  these  portentous 
dispositions  without  the  least  manifestation  of 
incivility.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  many  of  them 
were  permitted  by  their  compassionate  officers 
to  sleep.  And  truly  it  was  good  weather  for 
that:  sleep  was  in  the  very  atmosphere.  The 
sun  burned  crimson  in  a  gray-blue  sky  through 
a  delicate  Indian-summer  haze,  as  beautiful  as 
a  day-dream  in  raradise.  If  one  had  been  given 
to  moralizing  one  might  have  found  material 
a-plenty  for  homilies  in  the  contrast  between 
that  peaceful  autumn  afternoon  and  the  bloody 
business  that  it  had  in  hand.  If  any  good 
chaplain  failed  to  "improve  the  occasion'"  let 
us  hope  that  he  lived  to  lament  in  sack-cloth- 
of-srold  and  ashes-of-roses  his  intellectual  un- 
thrift. 

Tie  putting  of  that  army  into  battle  shape 
— its  change  from  columns  into  lines — could 
not  have  occupied  more  than  an  hour  or  two. 
yet  it  seemed  an  eternity.  Its  leisurely  evolu- 
tions were  irritating,  but  at  last  it  moved 
forward  with  atoning  rapidity  and  the  fight 
was  on.  First,  the  storm  struck  Warner's 
l  1  brigades,  which,  vanishing  in  fire  and 
smoke,  instantly  reappeared  as  a  confused 
mass  of  fugitives  inextricably  intermingled 
with  their  pursuers.     They  had  not  stayed  the 


OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  61 

advance  a  moment,  and  as  might  have  been 
foreseen  were  now  a  peril  to  the  main  line, 
which  could  protect  itself  only  by  the  slaugh- 
ter of  its  friends.  To  the  right  and  left,  how- 
ever, our  guns  got  into  play,  and  simultane- 
ously a  furious  infantry  fire  broke  out  along 
the  entire  front,  the  paralyzed  center  excepted. 
But  nothing  could  stay  those  gallant  rebels 
from  a  hand-to-hand  encounter  with  bayonet 
and  butt,  and  it  was  accorded  to  them  with 
hearty  good-will. 

Meantime  Wagner's  conquerors  were  pour- 
ing across  the  breastwork  like  water  over  a 
dam.  The  guns  that  had  spared  the  fugitives 
had  now  no  time  to  fire;  their  infantry  sup- 
ports gave  way  and  for  a  space  of  more  than 
two  hundred  yards  in  the  very  center  of  our 
line  the  assailants,  mad  with  exultation,  had 
everything  their  own  way.  From  the  right 
and  the  left  their  gray  masses  converged  into 
the  gap,  pushed  through,  and  then,  spreading, 
turned  our  men  out  of  the  works  so  hardly 
held  against  the  attack  in  their  front.  From 
our  viewpoint  on  the  bluff  we  could  mark  the 
constant  widening  of  the  gap,  the  steady  en- 
croachment of  that  blazing  and  smoking  mass 
against  its  disordered  opposition. 

"It  is  all  up  with  us,"  said  Captain  Dawson, 
of  Wood's  staff;  "I  am  going  to  have  a  quiet 
smoke." 

I  do  not  doubt  that  he  supposed  himself  to 
have  borne  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  strife. 
In  the  midst  of  his  preparations  for  a  smoke 
he  paused  and  looked  again — a  new  tumult 
of  musketry  had  broken  loose.    Colonel  Emer- 


ICONOCLASTIC  ME 

son  Opdycke  had  rushed  his  reserve  brigade 
into  the  melee  and  was  bitterly  disputing  the 
Confederate  advantage.  Other  fresh  regiments 
joined  in  the  countercharge,  commanderless 
groups  of  retreating  men  returned  to  their 
work,  and  there  ensued  a  hand-to-hand  contest 
of  incredible  fury.  Two  long,  irregular,  mu- 
table and  tumultuous  blurs  of  color  were  con- 
suming each  other's  edge  along  the  line  of 
contact.  Such  devil's  work  does  not  last  long, 
and  we  had  the  great  joy  to  see  it  ending,  not 
as  it  began,  but  "more  nearly  to  the  heart's 
desire."  Slowly  the  mobile  blur  moved  away 
from  the  town,  and  presently  the  gray  half  of  it 
dissolved  into  its  elemental  waits,  all  in  slow 
recession.  The  retaken  guns  in  the  embrasures 
pushed  up  towering  clouds  of  white  smoke;  to 
easl  and  to  west  along  the  reoccupied  parapet 
ran  a  line  of  misty  red  till  the  spitfire  crest 
was  without  a  break  from  flank  to  flank.  Prob- 
ably there  \  Yankee  cheering,  as 
doubtless  there  had  been  the  "rebel  yell,"  but 
my  memory  recalls  neither.  There  are  many 
battles  in  a  war,  and  many  incidents  in  a  bat- 
Tie:  one  does  not  recollect  everything.  Pos- 
sibly I  have  not  a  retentive  ear. 

While  this  lively  work  had-  been  doing  in 
the  center,  there  had  been  no  lack  of  diligence 
elsewhere,  and  now  all  were  as  busy  as  bees. 
I  have  read  of  many  "successive  attacks" — 
"charge  after  charge" — but  I  think  the  only 
■tt*  after  the  first  were  those  of  the  second 
Confederate  lines  and  possibly  some  of  the 
reserves:  certainly  there  were  no  visihle  abate- 
ment  and   renewal   of  effort    anywhere   except 


Oft    'I  Hi:  CIVIL   WAR  1 

where  the  men  who  had  been  pushed  out  ol 
the  works  backward  tried  to  re-enter.  And 
all  the  time  there  was  fighting. 

After  resetting  their  line  the  victors  could 
not  clear  their  front,  for  the  baffled  assailants 
would  not  desist.  All  over  the  open  country 
in  their  rear,  clear  back  to  the  base  of  the 
hills,  drifted  the  wreck  of  battle,  the  wounded 
that  were  able  to  walk;  and  through  the  re- 
ceding throng  pushed  forward,  here  and  there, 
horsemen  with  orders  and  footmen  whom  we 
knew  to  be  bearing  ammunition.  There  were 
no  wagons,  no  caissons:  the  enemy  was  not 
using,  and  could  not  use,  his  artillery.  Alon;; 
the  line  of  fire  we  could  see,  dimly  in  the 
smoke,  mounted  officers,  singly  and  in  small 
groups,  attempting  to  force  their  horses  across 
the  slight  parapet,  but  all  went  down.  Of  this 
devoted  band  was  the  gallant  General  Adams, 
whose  body  was  found  upon  the  slope,  and 
whose  animal's  forefeet  were  actually  inside 
the  crest.  General  Cleburne  lay  a  few  paces 
farther  out,  and  five  or  six  other  general  offi- 
cers sprawled  elsewhere.  It  was  a  great  day 
for  Confederates  in  the  line  of  promotion. 

For  many  minutes  at  a  time  broad  spaces 
of  battle  were  veiled  in  smoke.  Of  what  might 
be  occurring  there  conjecture  gave  a  terrifying 
report.  In  a  visible  peril  observation  is  a 
kind  of  defense;  against  the  unseen  we  lift  a 
trembling  hand.  Always  from  these  regions  of 
obscurity  we  expected  the  worst,  but  always 
the  lifted  cloud  revealed  an  unaltered  situation. 

The  assailants  began  to  give  way.  There 
was   no   general   retreat;    at   many   points   the 


64  MEMGiil£j   Ur'    1H^    WAR 

fight  continued,  with  lessening  ferocity  and 
lengthening  range,  well  into  the  night.  It  be- 
came an  affair  of  twinkling  musketry  and 
broad  flares  of  artillery;  then  it  sank  to  silence 
in  the  dark. 

Under  orders  to  continue  his  retreat,  Scho- 
fieid  could  now  do  so  unmolested:  Hood  had 
suffered  so  terrible  a  loss  in  life  and  morale 
that  he  was  in  no  condition  for  effective  pur- 
suit. As  at  Spring  Hill,  daybreak  found  us 
on  the  road  with  all  our  impedimenta  except 
some  of  our  wounded,  and  that  night  we  en- 
camped under  the  protecting  guns  of  Thomas, 
at  Nashville.  Our  gallant  enemy  audaciously 
followed,  and  fortified  himself  within  rifle- 
reach,  where  he  remained  for  two  weeks  with- 
out firing  a  gun  and  was  then  destroyed. 


